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Book Three – Chapter Three.
“We Shall Always be Brothers Now – Always, Always.”
“Just there, Tandy,” said Halcott, as the two stood together a day or two after on the brink of a rocky chasm, at the bottom of which the river swept slowly along, dark and deep, because confined by the wet and perpendicular rocks – “just there it was where my friend, my almost brother, plunged over. He had torn up the bridge, as I told you, to save us from the black men’s axes, and so doing sacrificed his life. Ah, James! poor James!
“See,” he added, “the bridge has never yet been repaired.”
Then they went slowly and sadly away, for Tandy felt sorry indeed to witness the grief of his companion.
“How he must have loved him!” he thought. But he remained silent. Grief is sometimes far too deep for sympathy.
They saw many little pigs to-day and rabbits also, as well as a species of pole-cat. But having still plenty of provisions on board they did not hamper themselves by making a bag.
Higher up the stream now they went, and after a time found a place that could be easily forded, the river meandering through a green and pleasant valley, studded here and there with fragrant shrubs and carpeted with wild flowers.
Monster butterflies darted from bloom to bloom – as big as painted fans they were, and radiantly beautiful; but still more beautiful were the many birds seen here and there, especially the kingfishers. So tame were these that they scarce moved even when the travellers came within a yard of them. Asleep you might have believed them to be till one after another, with a half-suppressed scream of excitement, they left their perches to dive into a pool, so quickly too that they looked like tiny strips of rainbow.
Dinner was partaken of by the side of the stream, and after a time they crossed the ford.
The country was rough and rolling and well-wooded, though few of the birds that flitted from bough to bough had any song; they made love in silence.
The beauty of the colours is doubtless granted them for sake of the preservation of species, for there are lizards large enough here to prey upon them, did the birds not resemble the flowers. Their want of song, too, is a provision of nature for the same purpose.
They found the country through which they passed on their way to the lake so covered with jungle, here and there, that they had to climb hills to save themselves from being lost, having brought no compass with them.
“Ha! yonder is the lake,” cried Halcott; “and now we shall see the place where my dear girl and her mother were imprisoned; and, Tandy,” he added, “we may find gold.”
Close here, by the green banks of the little lake, and in a grove, much to their astonishment, they found a canoe.
To all appearance it had been recently used, for there were the marks of feet on the grass, and in the canoe – a black dug-out – were a native tomahawk, a kind of spear or trident, and fishing-hooks of bone, most curiously formed, and evidently only recently used.
“Look to your guns now, lads,” said Halcott, “and keep out of sight; that island is inhabited.”
Just at that moment, as if in proof of what he said, a slight wreath of smoke came curling up through the foliage of a large-leaved banana grove on the tiny island.
A council of war was immediately held. The question to be debated was: should two of their number enter the canoe and row boldly off to the grass hut, the top of which could be seen peeping grey over the green of the trees?
This had been Tom Wilson’s proposition. He and Chips, he said, would run the risk. There could not be many savages on the island. With revolvers in their hands they need not fear to advance under cover of the rifles of Captain Halcott and Mr Tandy.
“Poisoned arrows,” said Halcott, shaking his head, “speed swiftly from a bush. Spears, too, fly fast, and the touch of either means death!
“No, my good fellows, we must think of some other plan. I cannot afford to have you slain. If one or two savages would but appear, we could make signs of peace, or hold them up with our rifles.”
From his position at this moment Halcott alone commanded a view of the islet, which was barely seventy yards away. The three others were sitting on the edge of the canoe.
“Oh!”
This was a sudden exclamation of half-frightened surprise, and when Tandy looked up, behold! there stood Halcott in a position which seemed to indicate a sudden attack of catalepsy. Halcott’s shoulders were shrugged, his clenched fists held somewhat in advance, his head bent forward, eyes staring, brows lowered, and lips parted.
Halcott was a brave man, and Tandy right well knew it. The sight of a score of spear-armed savages could not have affected him thus; he might be face to face with a tiger or a python, yet feel no fear.
Thinking his friend was about to fall, Tandy sprang up and seized his arm.
Halcott recovered almost at once, and a smile stole over his bold, handsome, sailor face.
But he spoke not. He could not just then. He only pointed over the bush towards the island, and Tandy looked in the same direction.
Slowly from out the plantain thicket tottered, rather than walked, the tall figure of a white man. His long hair flowed unkempt over his shoulders; he was clothed in rags, and leaned upon a long, strong spear.
He stood there for a moment on a patch of greensward, and, shading his eyes from the sunlight, gazed across the lake, and as if listening.
Then he knelt just there, with his right hand still clutching the spear, as if engaged in prayer.
And Tandy knew then without being told that the man kneeling yonder on the patch of greensward was the long-lost James Malone himself. But no one moved, no one spoke, until at last the Crusoe staggered to his feet. This he did with difficulty, moving as one does who has aged before his time with illness or sorrow, or with both combined.
James had turned to go, when, with a happy cry, Halcott sprang out from his hiding-place, dragging with him the small canoe and her paddles.
“Ship ahoy! James! James!” he shouted, “your prayers are heard. I’m here – your old shipmate, Halcott. You are saved!”
The captain sprang into the canoe as he spoke, and soon shoved her off.
They could see now, in a bright glint of sunshine, that James’s hair was long and had a silvery sheen. He gazed once more across, but shook his head. It was evident he would not credit his senses. Then he turned round and moved slowly and painfully back into the bush.
Tandy had not attempted to go with Halcott, though the canoe could easily have held two.
“That meeting,” he said to himself, “will be a sacred one. I shall not dare to intrude.”
It was quite a long time after he reached the island and disappeared in the grove before anything more was seen of Halcott.
Tandy had thrown himself on the beach in a careless attitude, just as he used to lounge on summer days on the poop of the Merry Maiden while slowly moving along the canal, and smoking now as he used to smoke then – smoking and thinking.
But see, Halcott is coming at last. He is leading James by the hand and helping him towards the boat, and in a few minutes’ time both are over and standing on the bank of the lake.
“Tandy, this is James. But you know the strange story, and this is the strangest part of all.”
Tandy took the hand that was offered to him. How cold and thin it felt!
“God sent you here,” said James slowly, and speaking apparently with some difficulty. “His name be praised. It was for this happy meeting I was kept living on and on, though I did not know it. It has been a weary, terrible time. It is ended now, I trust.” Here a happy smile spread over his sadly-worn face, and once more he extended his hand to Halcott. “Heaven bless you, friend – nay, brother!”
“Yes, James, and we shall always be brothers now – always, always.”
Book Three – Chapter Four.
Prisoner among Savages – Shipwreck
Not a word about gold was spoken that night. To Halcott had been restored that which is better far than much fine gold – the friendship of a true and honest heart.
For many days James Malone was far too weak to talk much, and he told them his story only by slow degrees as he reclined on the couch in the Sea Flower’s cabin, as often as not with little Nelda seated on a camp-stool beside him, her little hand in his. She had quite taken to James, and the child’s gentle voice and winning manners appeared to soothe him.
His story was one of suffering, it is true, but of suffering nobly borne.
Hope had flown away at last, however. He found himself too ill to find his own living. At the very time Halcott spied him, he had come forth expecting to look his last at sun and sky, just to pray, and then creep back into the cooler gloom of his hut to die.
How he had been saved from the savages, in the first instance, is soon told. He had leaped, after he had seen every one safely over the bridge, into the deep pool with the intention of swimming down stream, hoping thus to avoid the natives, and, gaining the beach, make his way along the coast or across the promontory to join his friends on the other side.
He had got almost a mile on, and was feeling somewhat exhausted, when the river suddenly narrowed again, and before he could do anything to help himself, he was caught in the rapids and hurried along at a fearful rate.
Sick and giddy, at last, and stunned by repeated blows received by contact with stones or boulders, he suddenly lost consciousness.
“Darkness, dearie,” he said, as if addressing Nelda only, “darkness came over me all at once, and many and many a day after that I lived to wonder why it had not been the darkness of death.
“When I recovered consciousness – when I got a little better, I mean, dearie – and opened my eyes, I found myself lying in a clearing of the forest, pained, and bruised, and bleeding.
“Pained I well might be, for feet and hands were tightly bound with a species of willow. But I was alone. I thanked God for that. I had no idea how long I had lain there, but it was night, and the stars that brightly shone above me were, for a time, my only companions. They gave me hope – oh, not for this world, but for the next. I felt my time would soon come, and that, baulked in their designs on the ladies, the savages would torture and sacrifice me. In spite of my sores and sufferings, some influence seemed to steal down from those holy stars to calm me, and I fell fast asleep once more. It could not have been for long, though. I had a rude awakening. All around me, but some distance off, was a circle of dusky warriors, spear-armed. I could see their eyes and teeth gleaming white in the starlight, as they danced exultingly round and round me, brandishing their weapons and uttering their wild yells, their savage battle-cries.
“But every now and then the circle would be suddenly narrowed, as a dozen or more of the fiercest and most demon-like rushed upon me with levelled spears, and it was then I thought my time had come. But the bitterness of death was past, and now, as if mad myself, I defied them, laughed at them, spat at them. My voice sounded far-off. I could hardly believe it was my own.
“But, as if by magic, suddenly every warrior disappeared, and into the clearing stalked a savage taller than any I had yet seen. His spear was like a weaver’s beam, as says the Bible. With hair adorned with feathers, with face, chest, and arms disfigured by tattooing – the scars in many places hardly yet healed – with awful mouth, and gleaming, vindictive eyes, he looked indeed a fearsome figure.
“At each side of him marched three men carrying torches, and close behind two savages bearing a litter, or rude hammock, of branches. On to this I was roughly lifted, and borne away through the dark woods.
“But whither? I hardly dared guess at the answer to that question. To death, I felt certain – death by torture and the stake. The chief would yet, he doubtless believed, have ‘white blood’ to drink, and that blood should be mine.
“It was to the small lake island, however, on which you found me, that I was carried, more dead than alive, and here I was to be kept a prisoner until the full of another moon.
“I need not tell you how I gradually ingratiated myself into favour, first with the medicine-man, and afterwards with the king himself, whom I taught much that was of use to him in the arts of peace, till he came to consider me far more useful alive than dead. Nor am I willing to speak before this dear child of the awful rites, the mummeries, and fearful human sacrifices that my eyes have witnessed. The wonder is, that instead of living on as I did – though life has been in reality but a living death – I did not become insane, and wander raving through the woods and forests.
“But the savages have been driven from the island at last, terrorised by the demons of the burning mountain, and I do not think that they are likely to return during the few weeks we shall be here.
“They fled in their canoes precipitately on the first signs of eruption. The boats were terribly overcrowded, and although they lightened them by throwing women and children overboard to the sharks, at least three great war-canoes were sunk before my eyes.
“It was a fearful sight! May no one here ever live to have such experiences as I have passed through.”
As soon as he could bear to listen to it, Halcott told James all his own story and that of the Sea Flower since she left the shores of England.
“Like myself,” said James, “you have been mercifully preserved.
“As to gold,” he continued, “I am fully aware that the medicine-man had many utensils of the purest beaten gold. They were used for sacrificial purposes; and, at one time, when the king and his warriors returned from utterly wiping out the inhabitants of an island to the nor’ard of this, and brought with them a crowd of prisoners, these golden utensils were filled over and over again with the blood of the victims, and drunk by the excited warriors. After this I never troubled myself about gold in any shape or form; but just before the exodus, I believe these vessels were hurriedly buried on the little island. If not, they have been thrown into the lake.”
“Is it in your power to tell us, James, where these vessels of gold were made, or where the gold was obtained?”
“They were fashioned, dear brother, by the spear-makers, with chisels and hammers of hard wood and stone.
“Even the medicine-man himself knew nothing of the value of the metal. It was easy to work, that was all, else iron itself would have been preferred. You ask me whence the gold was obtained. I can only inform you that the secret lay and lies with the magician himself, and that the mine is a cave at the foot of the burning mountain, probably now entirely filled up with lava. Once, and once only, was I permitted to accompany this awful wretch to the grove near which this cave is situated. I was not allowed to go further. Here I waited for a whole hour, during which time I now and then heard muffled shrieks and yells of pain and agony that made me shudder.”
“What could these have been, think you, James?”
“Can you not guess? At least, you may, when I tell you that a poor boy was forced to enter the cave with the medicine-man, but never again saw the light of day.
“I had learned by this time to talk the language of these savages, and all the information I received, when I questioned the monster, was that the demons of the fiery hill had to be propitiated.
“But he brought back with him two huge nuggets that I could see were gold.
“This was the price, he told me, that he had been paid for the kee-wääee. (youth).
“I never saw those nuggets again, but believe they were fashioned into spear-heads for the king.”
While Halcott and James were talking quietly down below, Tandy was walking the deck with considerable uneasiness. There was a strange appearance far away in the north that he did not like. No banks of clouds were rising, only just a curious black, or rather purple, haze. It had been so very clear all round up till an hour ago, that danger would have been the last thing Tandy would have thought about.
He looked towards the distant island through his glass at three o’clock, and it was then visible; but now, though the dog-watch had only just begun, it was wiped out, swallowed up in the mysterious haze.
But when a bigger wave than usual rolled in, and others and others followed, and when the surface became wrinkled here and there with cat’s-paws, he hesitated no longer.
“All hands on deck!” he shouted, stamping loudly on the planks to arouse those below. “Hands loosen sail! Man the winch, lads! It must be up anchors, and off!”
There was wind enough shortly to work to windward till they were quite clear of the bay, then they kept the barque away on the starboard tack, until well clear of the island.
They now worked northwards as far as possible, till the wind got too strong, when they were obliged to lie to, almost under bare poles.
Neither Tandy, Halcott, nor James could remember having encountered so terrible a storm before. No one thought of turning in that night, for, being so short-handed, every man was needed on deck.
About midnight this fearful gale was evidently at its worst. The sea was then making a clean breach over the ship from fore to aft. The darkness was intense; hardly any light was there at all from the sky, save now and then a bright gleam of lightning that lit up mast, rigging, and shrouds, and the pale faces of the men as they clung in desperation to bulwark or stay.
Each lightning flash was followed by a peal of thunder that sounded high above even the incessant roaring of the wind.
Surely it was every one for himself now, and God for all who put their trust in Him.
It was probably about five bells in the middle-watch, the hatches being firmly battened down, when Ransey Tansey crept under the tarpaulin that covered the after companion, and lowered himself down as well as the terrible motion of the ship permitted him. He staggered into the saloon.
A light was burning in his father’s state-room, the light of a candle hung in gimbals.
Towards the door he groped his way, hoping against hope that he would find his little sister asleep and well.
“O Jane, are you here?” he said; “so glad.”
Janeira rose as he entered, clinging to the edge of the upper bunk in the endeavour to steady herself.
“Iss, I’se heah, sah. Been praying heah all de night to de good Lawd to deliber us. Been one big night ob feah, sah. But de sweet child, she go to sleep at last.”
“Did she cry much?”
“No; she much too flighten’d to weep.”
Ransey bent low over his sister, and felt relieved when certain that she was breathing and alive, for she slept almost like one in a trance.
Ransey had long since become “sea-fast,” as sailors call it. No waves, however rough, could affect him, no ship’s motion however erratic.
But just at that moment his head suddenly swam; he felt, as he afterwards expressed it, that he was being lifted into the clouds; next moment a crash came that extinguished the light and hurled him to the deck.
For a moment he felt stunned and unable to move; and now, high above the shrieking of the storm-wind, came the sound of falling and breaking timber, and Ransey knew the ship was doomed.
Book Three – Chapter Five.
Fortifying the Encampment
The sound was that of falling masts. A sailor of less experience than Ransey could have told that.
The barque had been dashed stern-foremost upon the rocks. She had been lifted by one of those mighty waves, or “bores,” that during a storm like this sometimes rise to the height of fifty feet or more, and hurrying onwards sweep over islands, and pass, leaving in their wake only death and destruction.
After the masts had gone clean by the board, there were loud grating noises for a short time, then the motion of the ship ceased – and ceased for ever and ay.
Nelda’s voice, calling for her father, brought the boy to himself.
“I’m here, dear,” he sang out. “It is all right; I’ll go and get a light; lie still.”
“Oh, don’t leave me. Tell me, tell me,” wept the wee lass, “is the ship at the bottom? And are we all drowned?”
Luckily, Janeira now managed to strike a light, and poor Nelda’s mind was calm once more.
Bob had slept on the sofa cushions all throughout this dreadful night; but Ransey was now very much astonished, indeed, to see the stately ’Ral walk solemnly in at the door, and gently lower his head and long neck over Nelda, that she might scratch his chin.
“Oh, you dear, droll ’Rallie,” cried the child, smiling through her tears, “and so you’re not drowned?”
But no one could tell where the ’Ral had spent the night.
Under the influence of great terror, the Admiral was in the habit of “trussing” himself, as the sailors called it – that is, he close-reefed his long neck till his head was on a level with his wings, and his long bill lying downwards along his crop. Then he drew up his thighs, and lowered himself down over his legs. He was a comical sight thus trussed, and seemed sitting on his tail, and no taller than a barn-door fowl. It was convenient for him, however, for he could thus stow himself away into any corner, and be in nobody’s way.
Daylight came at last, and it was now found that the Sea Flower had been lifted by the mighty wave, and after being dashed into a gully in the barrier of rocks that stretched along the eastern side of Treachery Bay, had been left there high and dry.
The marvel is that, although several of the hands had been more or less shaken and bruised, no one was killed.
The position of the wrecked barque was indeed a strange one. Luckily for her the sea had risen when the tide was highest, so that she now lay on an even keel upon the shelf of rocks, twenty feet above the bay at low water.
The monster wave seemed to have made a clean breach of the lowland part of the island, and gone surging in through the dead forest, smashing thousands of the blackened trees to the ground, and quite denuding all that were left of their beautiful drapery of foliage, climbing flowers, and floral parasites.
At each side of the gully the black rocks towered like walls above the hulk, but landwards, a green bank, of easy ascent, sloped up to the well-wooded table-land above.
As speedily as possible the main part of the wreckage was cleared away. This consisted of a terrible entanglement of ropes and rigging. But the spars were sawn up into lengths that could be easily moved, and so, in a few hours’ time, the unfortunate Sea Flower was simply a dismantled hulk.
When the work was finally accomplished, the men were permitted to go below, to cook breakfast, and sleep if they had a mind to.
But not till prayers were said, and thanks, fervent and heartfelt, offered up to the God who, although He had seen fit to wreck the ship, had so mercifully spared the lives of all.
Strange, indeed, was now the position of these shipwrecked mariners, and it was difficult for Halcott, Tandy, and James Malone to review it with even forced calmness.
The three men walked up together to the table-land to hold a council, taking no one with them.
The storm had gone down almost as quickly as it had arisen, and sea and sky were blue and beautiful once again.
Said James, as they all sat smoking there, —
“Brother Halcott, my first words are these – and I’m an older man than either of you – We must not despair!”
“We must not despair!” repeated both his shipmates.
But they did not smile, and their voices sounded almost hollow, or as if they came up out of a phonograph.
James laid his hand on his friend’s knee.
“Our prospects are bad, I allow,” he said, “the future looks dark and drear. We are far, far beyond the ordinary track of ships; ships seldom, if ever, come this way, unless driven out of their course by stress of weather. I think, then, brother, that we may dismiss from our minds, as useless, all hope from that direction. But dangers loom ahead that we must not, dare not, try to minimise. We are here with but limited supplies of food and ammunition, and these can hardly last for ever. The nearest land is hundreds and hundreds of miles away, the wild, inhospitable shores of Northern Patagonia. We are but eleven all told, excluding the boys Ransey and Fitz, the dear child, and Janeira – eleven working hands. Could we expect or dare, as a last resource, to reach the far-off land in two open boats? Did we attempt this, we should have to reckon, at the outset, upon opposition from the wild natives of that north island; then on the dangers of the elements during this long, forlorn cruise. Worst of all, if not an-hungered, we might perish from thirst. Tandy, you would go mad were you to see the anxious, fevered face and dry, parched lips of your child upturned to the sky, weak and weary, and praying for the drop of water you could not find to give her.”
“Hush, James, hush!” cried Tandy; “sooner far we should all die where we are.”
“I do not mention these matters to worry you, men, but that, knowing our dangers, we may be prepared to face them.
“Then,” he continued, “there is the king of this island and his warriors to be thought about. Fools, indeed, were we did we not reckon on these, for they constitute the danger that presses most, now that we are wrecked – the danger, probably, first to be faced.”
“You think, then, they will return?”
James Malone pointed to the far-off volcanic hill, which was once more belching forth smoke.
“They will return,” he said, “when yonder cloud rests no longer on the mountain top.
“Yes, brother, it might be possible to make friends of them. But I doubt it. Treachery is written on every lineament of their black and fearsome faces. I should never, never trust them.
“And now, men,” he continued, after a thoughtful pause, “I have painted our situation in its darkest colours. Let us see, then, where the light comes in. The light and the hope.”
As he spoke he took from his bosom a little Bible and those big horn “specs” that Halcott mentioned in his story. These last he mounted on his nose, and turning over the leaves read solemnly as follows: —
“‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
“‘Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea.
“‘The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved; He uttered his voice, the earth melted.
“‘The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Amen!’
“In these words,” said James closing the book, “and in many such promises, do I place my hope and confidence. God heard my prayers before, gentlemen. He will hear ours now. I think our deliverance will come about in some strange way. Just let us trust.”
But James Malone’s religion was of a very practical kind. “Trust in God, and keep your powder dry,” are words that have been attributed to Cromwell. They are to the point.
“Fortuna favet fortibus,” (fortune favours the brave), you know, reader; and it is wrong to expect God to help us to do that which He has given us the power to do for ourselves.
“And now, gentlemen,” said James, rising to his feet, “let us work.”
“The first thing to be considered, then,” said Halcott, “is, I think you will agree with me, James, our defence.”
“That is so,” said James quietly. “The savages will come sooner or later, I fear, and it is but little likely they will come prepared to shake us by the hand and make friends with us. Even if they did, I should be prepared to fight them, for you never know what might happen.”
“Right, James, right. We may be thankful anyhow that as yet we are all spared and well. Now, you just have the hands lay aft, and tell them, brother, in your convincing way, how matters stand. Speak to them as you spoke to us.”
James answered never a word, but went straight down the green declivity and boarded the vessel. He did not ask the men to come to the quarterdeck – James was non-demonstrative in all his methods. He would have no “laying aft” business. This was too much man-of-war fashion for him, so he simply went forward to the forecastle and beckoned the few hands around him.
A minute or two after this Halcott and Tandy, still lying at ease on the brow of the embankment, heard a lusty cheer. From their position they could command a view of the deck, and now, on looking down, behold! the brave little crew were taking off their jackets and tightening their waist-belts, and a mere tyro could have told that that meant business.
Halcott got up now; he plucked a pinch of moss, and after plugging his pipe therewith he placed it carefully away in his jacket pocket.
That meant business also.
“Come, Tandy,” he said, and both descended.
The position, it must be admitted, was one which it would be rather difficult for so small a garrison to defend successfully.
The vessel, as I have already said, had been dashed stern on to the rocks and into the gully, and the jibboom hung over a black, slippery precipice that descended sheer down into the sea. This cliff, however, was not so slippery but that it might afford foothold for naked savages. It must be included, therefore, in the plan of defence.
But from the cliffs that rose on each side of the ship an enemy could attack her, and the deck below would then be quite at the mercy of their poisoned spears and their clouds of arrows, while the bank astern which sloped upwards to the table-land could easily be rushed by a determined foe.
An outer line of defence was therefore imperative; in fact this would be of as much service to these Crusoes as the Channel Fleet is to the British Islands.
This part of the work was therefore the first to be commenced, and merrily indeed the men set to work. They began by clearing away the bush all round the gully where the Sea Flower lay, to the extent of forty yards, being determined to leave not a single shrub behind which a savage might conceal himself. Everything cut down was hauled to the top of the cliff and trundled into the sea. To have lit a fire and burned it would have invited the attention of the natives on that far-off island, and a visit of curiosity on their part would have ended disastrously for the shipwrecked party.
