Десмонд Бэгли: Wyatt's Hurricane

‘Dave tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t get past that fool Schelling. I don’t think he would evacuate; he’s too stiff-necked — a real Navy man with his “Damn the torpedoes!” and “Damn the hurricanes!’ ”

‘I didn’t get that impression of Brooks,’ said Rawsthorne quietly. ‘And I knew him very well. He had a very difficult decision to make, and I’m sure he made the right one for all concerned.’

Julie looked up at the tall tree on the edge of the ravine and saw the topmost branches straining in the wind. It would soon be time to take shelter again. She knew it was futile to worry about Wyatt — there was nothing she could do — and there was someone closer at hand to trouble her.

Rawsthorne looked very ill. His breathing was bad and, when he spoke, it seemed to strain him. His face had lost its floridity and turned the colour of dirty parchment and his eyes were shrunk into dark smudges in his head. He also had trouble in moving; his actions were slow and uncertain and there was a trembling palsy in his hands. To be soaked to the skin for the next few hours would be the worst thing that could happen to him.

She said again, ‘Wouldn’t it be wiser to go down the hill?’

‘There is no better shelter there than we have here. The ravine provides complete shelter from the wind.’

‘But the water...’

He smiled gently. ‘My dear, one would get just as wet anywhere else.’ He closed his eyes. ‘You’re worried about me, aren’t you?’

‘I am,’ said Julie. ‘You don’t look too good.’

‘I don’t feel too well,’ he confessed. ‘It’s an old complaint which I thought I’d got rid of. True, my doctor said I mustn’t exert myself, but he didn’t take account of wars and hurricanes.’

‘It’s your heart, isn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘Running over these hills is all very well for younger men. Don’t worry, my dear; there is nothing you can do. I certainly don’t intend to do any more running. I shall sit placidly under that waterfall and wait for the wind to stop.’ He opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘You have a great capacity for love, child. Wyatt is a very lucky man.’

She coloured, then said softly, ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.’

‘Wyatt is a very stubborn man,’ said Rawsthorne. ‘If he has something to work towards he will not permit himself to be killed — it would interfere with his plans. He was very concerned about you, you know, the night the battle began. I don’t know which was on his mind more, the hurricane or your safety.’ He patted her hand and she felt the tremble of his fingers. ‘He will be looking for you still.’

The wind gusted among the leafless trees, drying the sudden tears that ran down her cheeks. She gulped and said, ‘I think it’s time to go back into our hole; the wind’s getting stronger.’

Rawsthorne looked up. ‘I suppose we must go. It won’t be pleasant out here when the wind really starts.’ He got to his feet, creaking almost audibly, and his steps were uncertain. He paused for a moment, and said, ‘A few minutes longer won’t hurt. I don’t relish that waterfall at all.’

They walked over to the edge of the ravine, and looked down. The water still coursed over the big rock, although perhaps not as strongly. Rawsthorne sighed. ‘It’s not a comfortable bed for old bones like mine.’ The wind blew his sparse hair.

‘I think we ought to go down,’ said Julie.

‘In a moment, my dear.’ Rawsthorne turned to look over the windy hillside. ‘I thought I heard voices quite close — from up there.’ He pointed towards the top of the ridge in the direction of St Pierre.

‘I didn’t hear anything,’ said Julie.

The wind rose to a greater violence, singing crazily among the branches of the trees. ‘Perhaps it was just the wind,’ said Rawsthorne. He smiled tightly. ‘Did you hear what I said then? Just the wind! Rather silly of me to say that about a hurricane, don’t you think? All right, my dear; we’ll go down now. The wind is very strong.’

He walked over to the tall tree and used it to lean on while he felt for his footing on the edge of the ravine. Julie came forward. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

‘It’s all right.’ He lowered himself over the edge and started to climb down, and Julie prepared to follow. There was a roar like an express train as a squall of wind passed overhead and an ominous creaking came from the tree.

Julie whirled and looked up. ‘Watch out!’ she screamed.

The tree was not securely rooted; water pouring from above had undercut the roots and the sudden hard pressure of the wind was too much for them. The tree began to topple, the roots wrenched themselves from the side of the ravine and the bole of the tree came forward like a battering ram straight at Rawsthorne.

Julie dashed forward and cannoned into him and, caught off balance, he lost his footing and fell down among the rocks. As it dropped the tree twisted and turned and a branch caught Julie a glancing blow on the head. She staggered back and the tree fell on top of her, crushing her legs painfully. The world was suddenly a twisting, turning chaos of red pain, and there were many crackling and popping noises as twigs and branches snapped off short on violent contact with the ground. Then all the noise faded away, even the howling of the wind, and the redness became grey and finally a total black.

At first, Rawsthorne did not know what had happened. He heard Julie’s shout and then found himself thrust into space. He was thoroughly winded by his fall into the ravine and lay for a while struggling for breath. There was a tightness in his chest, an old enemy which presaged no good, and he knew he must not move very much or his heart would begin to go back on him. But after a while, when he began to breathe more easily, he sat up and looked at the tangle of branches on the edge of the ravine.

‘Julie!’ he called. ‘Are you all right?’

His voice was painfully thin and lost in the suddenly risen wind. He shouted again and again but heard no reply. He looked up in despair at the wall of ravine, knowing that he must force himself to climb it, and wondered hazily if he would make it. Slowly he began to climb, nursing his ebbing strength and resting often when he found a firm footing.

He nearly made it to the top.

As he stretched out his hand to grasp a firm rock on the lip of the ravine he cried out in pain. It felt as though some vicious enemy had thrust a red-hot sword into his chest and his heart seemed to swell and break asunder. He cried out once more at the awful agony and fell back into the ravine, where he lay with the torrent of water lapping at his hair.

Julie did not know how long she was unconscious, but when she recovered her senses everything was murkily grey, and the shriek of the gale battered at her ears. She blinked and tried to get up, but she could not and for some time could not understand why. Her right arm was held down, and someone was apparently sitting on her legs.

She explored with her left hand and encountered the rough bark of the tree and suddenly knew what had happened. Further exploration told her more; the tree had fallen upon her and her right arm was held down by a stout branch while the trunk lay across her legs. She tugged to try to free her arm but nothing happened, and after several attempts, she gave up.

The roar of the wind filled the universe, and she wondered why she did not feel the blast more than she did. Then she found, after rubbing the caked blood from her half-closed eyes, that it was not as dark as she had thought. Tree branches were all about her, while the trunk which pinned her down shielded her from the worst of the wind.

She tried again to free her right arm and then gave up in despair. By turning her head at an awkward angle she found she was lying on the very edge of the ravine and could see down to the rocks and water below. On the extreme periphery of her vision she saw a dark shape huddled among the boulders, and by twisting her head until her neck hurt she saw it was Rawsthorne lying face down with a wave breaking quite close to his head.