While evacuating the women and Mr. Quarrie from the lifeboat, the scientist had been shocked to see the Lancet’s bow heaving west into the waves beneath a cloud of thick black smoke that churned desperately from its funnel.
The scientist had wondered then why Manteau had not followed, and thought to lay that marvel upon Seward’s efforts, too. Had the big Texan’s attack been so severe that Manteau lacked crew in sufficient health to attempt such risky things as reclaiming hostages—even pretty ones?
Van Resen had watched the ship steam away as he briefly considered an attempt to redeem the ranger’s body from the sea, but the reality of their situation was too severe.
There was no time for such luxuries as funerals.
And so with heavy hearts the castaways had started unloading the lifeboat, each thinking of the ranger, and wondering at the perilous future that he had purchased for them.
Then had come the ape’s screams.
“What shall we do, doctor?” Mr. Quarrie asked, limping over the sand toward him. The older man looked forlorn, glancing nervously between the jungle and the sea.
“Survive, sir,” Van Resen answered, rubbing his eyes as he shifted back from reverie. “As we must.”
Dr. Joseph Van Resen was an eminent biologist and scientist who had studied in his native Germany before taking research positions in Amsterdam and England. He had been lecturing at institutions in London when he was invited by the South African College in Cape Town to lecture on Charles Darwin’s work The Origin of Species.
“But how do we—survive?” Mr. Quarrie moaned, returning to his wife to dab at her cheeks with a damp handkerchief. She’d been growing paler since the last savage call had echoed from the jungle depths.
“Start with optimism. At least you weren’t traveling with White Star Lines,” Van Resen cracked. “Mind you, their crew is honest, and the luxury afforded you would make up for the dampness later experienced on the main deck.”
“You would joke about Titanic?” Miss James said harshly from where she had moved to fan Mrs. Quarrie’s face with her hands.
“Merely some levity intended to illustrate how lucky we are in comparison, Miss James,” Van Resen said, removing his eyeglasses to clean the lenses with his blood-stained and salt-encrusted shirt cuff.
He glanced up at tall, tufted trees that grew along the beach, and wondered which task would be more difficult: climbing them or opening the coconuts once they’d been retrieved.
“Marooned we may be,” he said, “but I see ample evidence of edible plant life which suggests potable water and animals that will suit our dietary requirements once we make some necessary adjustments.”
“Adjustments!” Miss James blurted, storming over to him. “We stand at the edge of a savage wilderness, and you speak of adjustments as though it is as simple as choosing coffee or tea.”
“Please remember, Miss James...” Van Resen slid his glasses back over his nose. “Our ancestors lived in places like this during prehistoric times and did quite well. If you can imagine them climbing up from this savage wilderness to sit eventually in a London tea room and make that choice between beverages... It’s quite encouraging don’t you think?”
He grinned without humor, catching her elbow and drawing her close to whisper, “My dear, I doubt we can expect rescue from a Carpathia of our own, and so we must make the best of what we have. Take a better attitude. Reality we must embrace, but your charges the dear Miss Lilly and her grandparents require your optimism if they are to make the ‘adjustments’ to which I have referred.” He gestured to the young girl who stood by the lifeboat with her arms crossed over her chest; her eyes were focused inward and her lips were quivering hopelessly.
“Oh, Lilly!” Miss James cried, and hurried over to the girl. The prospect of entering the jungle was priming the teenager’s every fear so her governess scolded herself for being drawn into Mrs. Quarrie’s histrionics—and the doctor’s philosophy.
Van Resen was correct: she had her duty and there was no room for pessimism if they wished to survive on this bleak shore.
She slipped her arms around Lilly’s shoulders and the sobbing girl buried her face against her breast.
“There, there, Ginny’s here,” Virginia cooed. “Let it out, my girl. You let it out.”
Van Resen looked at his companions and felt his own spirits flag momentarily as he thought again of the Texan. Captain Seward would have been very useful, indeed. Retired or not, his strength had still be in evidence as he’d fought the mutineers singlehandedly.
The big man had not even bothered to draw his gun.
Now gone and his body lost at sea. Such a shame. Van Resen resisted the urge to look back out over the waves.
That was the past, and the present would require his full attention if he and his companions hoped to enjoy any future.
Van Resen still fancied himself fit for vigorous exercise and the natural physicality that might lie ahead, but their party was sorely lacking in vigorous youth.
The Quarries’ butler Jacob Raines would be of use, and while the tall black man was old, he still exhibited a strong presence and upright frame in his black sack suit, bright waistcoat and starched collar. He was intelligent also, and had made good use of the associations and opportunities given a man in such employ.
According to Captain Seward, the gray-haired manservant had been born a slave 60 years before, and had started his life in service to his former masters when they were ranchers and now continued on after their becoming an oil family where he remained in his liberty with hopes of some security into his dotage.
Raines was hale and hearty nonetheless, though he had complained
