Kitabı oku: «The Island of Gold: A Sailor's Yarn», sayfa 14
It took days to clear the bush away, and not only the men but the officers as well bore a hand and slaved away right cheerfully.
No one was left on board except Ransey Tansey himself, the nigger boy, and Janeira. Nelda insisted on going on shore with the working party, the marvellous crane flew down from the hulk, and Bob was always lowered gently over the side. These three were the superintendents, as Halcott called them; they had nothing to do but play about, it is true, but their very happiness inspired the men and made the work more easy. The other three – those left on board – had work to do, for on them devolved the duty of preparing the meals for all hands; and in this duty they never failed.
Well, the jungle was cleared at last, and this clearance, it was determined, should be extended and made double the width at least.
And now began the hard labour and toil of erecting the stockade, and in this strength was of very great importance. But it was not everything. The wooden wall must be built on scientific principles, so that a volley could be fired on an enemy attacking from any direction.
The building of this fortification, with its strong-barred gate, took our Crusoes quite a month. No one can marvel at this, if they bear in mind that the trees had to be cut down in the woods, and dragged all the way to the cliff before they could be fashioned and put into place; that the rain sometimes put a stop to work entirely, so heavy and incessant was it; and, moreover, that the men suffered a good deal from the bites of poisonous and loathsome insects, such as centipedes and scorpions. The wounds made by either of these had to be cauterised at once, else serious results would have followed.
At last the palisade and gate were finished, loopholed, and plentifully studded with sharp nails and spikes outside.
After this the little garrison breathed more freely. There was much to be done yet, however, before they could sleep in security.
Book Three – Chapter Six.
An Awful Secret of the Sea
Having finished the first line of defence, attention was turned to the inner works.
How best could the Crusoes repel boarders if the palisade were carried, and a rush made down the embankment with the view of attacking the ship?
It was some time before this question could be answered with any degree of satisfaction.
I think that the plan finally adopted was the best under the circumstances.
During such an attack, not only would the defenders have to do all they could to stop a rush down the sloping bank, but protect themselves also from the spears that would be hurled at them from the cliffs above.
An inner palisade was therefore erected, not so strong as the other; and right over the after part of the quarterdeck, and round a portion of its bulwarks, a shed was erected, under which the men could work their rifles and the great gun with comparative safety.
If the outer line should be broken through, the savages would no doubt attack in their fullest force, and a gun loaded with grape-shot would play awful havoc in their ranks; and boiling water from the donkey engine would in all probability suggest to the enemy the advisability of a quick retreat.
Nevertheless, the outlook, even should they be thus repelled, would be a black one, and a state of siege could only have one sad ending.
But let me not be “too previous,” as humourists say.
So quickly does time slip away when a person is busy that when, one morning at breakfast, James Malone said quietly, “Men, we have been here for just two months to-day,” Halcott could scarcely credit it.
But a reference to the log, which was still most carefully kept, revealed the truth of what James had said.
Two months! Yes; and as yet the weather and the work had prevented them from penetrating inland in search of nature’s hidden treasures.
But the rain ceased at last; and though clouds still hung around, and mists often obscured the sea for days at a time, the glorious spring time had come again, and the island was soon a veritable land of flowers.
The first visit inland was made to the Lake of the Lonely Isle, as it was called. But a bridge had to be built over the chasm, to replace that torn up by the hands of brave James Malone. This was easily formed of trees, with a rail at each side, and this bridge shortened the distance to the little lake by several miles.
The working party carried picks and spades and axes, for it was determined to thoroughly overhaul the island in search of the utensils used by the priests during their awful human sacrifices.
The isle was a very small one, but, nevertheless, it took three whole days to thoroughly search it. And every evening they returned to the ship unsuccessful, but certainly not disheartened.
Halcott told his brave fellows that if more gold were found than simply enough to pay the expenses of the voyage, not including the loss of the ship, for that was insured, they would have a good percentage thereof, and something handsome to take home to wives and sweethearts. So, although they knew in their hearts that they might never live to get home, they worked as willingly and as merrily as British sailors ever did “for England, home, and beauty,” as the dear old song has it.
I may as well mention here, and be done with it, that Lord Fitzmantle, the nigger boy, very much to his delight, was appointed signalman-in-chief to the forces. Observatory Hill was not a difficult climb for Fitz, and here a flag-staff had been erected. An ensign hoisted on this point could be seen not only over all the island but over a considerable portion of the sea as well. But Fitz received strict orders not to hoist it unless he saw a passing ship.
Bob was allowed to accompany the boy every day. Dinner was therefore carried for two, and Fitz, who could read well, never went without a book.
One day, while James and Halcott were wandering, somewhat aimlessly it must be confessed, in a wood not far from the lake, they came upon a clearing, in the midst of which stood a solitary, strange, weird-looking dead tree. It was a tree of considerable dimensions, and one side of it was much charred by fire.
“It was just here,” said James quietly, pointing to the spot, “where I should have been burned, had not Providence mercifully intervened to save my somewhat worthless life.”
Both walked slowly toward that tree, and acting like a man in deep thought, Halcott carelessly kicked it.
It may sound like a sentence read out of a fairy book when I say that a little door in that part of the tree suddenly flew open inwards; but it is nevertheless true.
“The treasure must be hidden here!” said Halcott. He was just about to plunge his hand into the hole when James restrained him.
“Stay, for Heaven’s sake, stay!” he cried excitedly. “The treasure, brother, may be there. I never thought of this before; but,” he added, “if the treasure is there, something else is there also, and we have that to deal with first.”
As he spoke, he took from his pocket a small piece of flint and some touch-paper. Then he gathered a handful of withered grass, struck fire with the back of his knife against the flint – James was very old-fashioned – placed the smoking paper in the grass, shook it, and soon had it in fire.
Then he thrust this into the hole, and ran quickly back a few yards.
“Keep well away,” he cried to his companion.
Next minute the head and neck of a huge crimson snake was protruded – hissing.
James fired at once.
It was an ugly sight to see that headless serpent wriggling and leaping on the clearing.
“That,” said James, as he seized it by the tail and flung it far into the bush, “was the chief medicine-man’s familiar. There are no snakes on the island, so where he procured it was always a mystery to me. But its possession gave the man great power over even the king himself, all believing it to be an evil spirit. And no wonder, for this ‘red devil,’ as the natives called it, although the medicine-man could handle it safely enough, was often permitted to bite a boy or a girl in the king’s presence, and the child invariably died in convulsions.”
“Horrible!” said Halcott. “Was there only one?”
“There was only one, and – it will never bite again.”
They walked back now towards the lake, and soon returned in company with Chips and Wilson armed with axes.
It was hard work, and an hour of it, too, cutting through that tree; but it fell with a crash at last – “carried away close by the board,” as Halcott phrased it.
“Now, men,” said James, “search among the débris in the hollow stump and see what you can find.”
James and Halcott stood quietly by leaning on their rifles.
But they laughed with very joy as the men pulled out bowl after bowl of beaten gold, to the number of seven in all. These were far from artistic, but they were large and heavy.
Inside they were black with blood.
Chips stood up and wiped the perspiration from his brow.
“My eye and Betty Martin! Captain Halcott, here’s a go. Why, we’ll be all as rich as water-cresses.”
And he joyfully tossed his hat in the air, and kicked it up again as it descended.
Chips was a queer chap.
But having now relieved his feelings, the search was proceeded with.
And when it was all over, and nothing further to be found, the inventory of the treasure now exposed to view, every article of purest gold, was as follows: —
A. Seven bowls, weighing about twelve pounds each.
B. Thirty-five spear-heads, solid and very heavy.
C. Fifteen gold daggers, similar to that brought away from the island by Doris herself.
D. Fifteen larger and curiously shaped knives.
E. One hundred or more fish-hooks.
F. Nineteen nuggets of gold of various sizes – one immense nugget weighed 149 pounds!
(The largest nugget ever found weighed over 180 pounds. It was dug up, I believe, at Ballarat. – G.S.)
No wonder these two men were excited.
“I say, sir,” said Chips, “I guess you’ll splice the main-brace to-night.”
“That we will with pleasure,” replied Halcott.
“And,” cried Tom Wilson, “I’ll fiddle as I’ve never fiddled before. I’ll make all hands laugh one minute, and I’ll have them all crying the next.”
Poor Wilson! It was noted that this man never touched rum himself, but invariably gave his share to another.
The main-brace was spliced that night, and that, too, twice over. It happened to be Saturday night.
It could not be called Saturday-night-at-sea, but it was Saturday night on board a ship; and despite the fact that the vessel was but a wreck and a hulk, it was spent in the good old fashion.
An awning was always kept spread over the fore part of the ship, and it was under this that the crew smoked and yarned in the evenings.
To-night the officers had gone forward to hear Tom Wilson play.
He did make them laugh. I do not know that his pathetic pieces caused many tears to flow, beautifully executed though they were, but late in the evening – and ten o’clock was considered late on board the hulk – when Halcott asked for a favourite air of his, Tom hesitated for a moment, then took up the violin.
There was a beauty of expression and sadness about Tom’s interpretation of this beautiful melody that held everybody spell-bound; but when at last the poor fellow laid his instrument on the table, and with bent head burst into tears, the astonishment of every one there was great indeed.
Jack, however, is ever in sympathy with sorrow, and Chips, rough old Chips, got up and went round behind Tom Wilson.
“Come, matie,” he said, patting him gently on the shoulder. “What is it, old heart? Music been too much for you? Eh? Come, come, don’t give way.”
Tom Wilson threw back his head and lifted his face now.
“Thank you, Chips; thank you, lad, and bless you. Nay, nay, I will not tell you to-night the reason of my stupid tears. I’m not the man to sadden a Saturday night. Come, lads, clear the decks. I’ll play you the grandest hornpipe you ever listened to.”
And play he did. Every note, every tone was thrilling. A dance was soon got up, and never before, not even in a man-of-war, did men foot the deck more merrily than those shipwrecked Crusoes did now.
But the queerest group there was just amidships, where Janeira herself and Fitz – all white eyes and flashing teeth – were madly tripping it on the light fantastic toe; while little Nelda and that droll old crane danced a fandango, that caused all hands, including even Tom himself, to shout with laughter when they beheld it.
The very solemnity of the crane as he curved his neck, hopped, and pirouetted, was the funniest part of the performance.
But next day all hands knew Tom’s pathetic story.
“That air I played,” he told them, “was my little daughter Fanny’s favourite. Fanny is dead. Georgie too. He was my boy. I was rich once, but drink ruined me, and – oh, may God forgive me! – led indirectly to the graveyard gate, where wife and children all lie buried!”
Two long months more had gone by, during which the exploring party had been busy enough almost every day at the distant hill, prospecting, excavating here and there, and searching in every likely nook for the cave of gold.
But all in vain.
During all the time they had now been on the island – more than six months – never a ship had been seen, nor had any boat or canoe ventured near the place.
“Surely, surely,” they thought, “some day some ship will find us out and rescue us.”
One day as they were returning earlier in the afternoon than usual, for it was very hot, and they were all somewhat weary and disheartened, they went suddenly almost delirious with joy to see, on looking towards the hill-top, that the ensign was hoisted upside down on the pole, and little Fitz dancing wildly round it, and pointing seaward.
Tired though they all were, there was no talk now of returning to the wreck. But straight to the hill they went instead.
To their infinite joy, when they reached the top at last, they could see a brig, with all available sail set, standing in for the island.
I say all available sail, for her fore-topmast was gone, she was cruelly punished about the bulwarks, and had evidently been blown out of her course during the gale that had raged with considerable violence a few days before.
Every heart beat high now with hope and joy, and as the vessel drew nearer and nearer, they shook hands with each other, and with tears in their eyes some even talked of their far-off cottage homes in England.
Nearer and nearer!
A flag was flying at her stern, but to what country she belonged could not yet be made out. But they could now, by aid of the glass, see the hands moving about the deck, and some leaning over the bows pointing towards the island.
But, “Oh, cruel! cruel!” cried the poor men, and grief took the place of joy, when the vessel altered its course and went slowly away on the other tack.
So great was the revulsion of feeling now that some of the Crusoes threw themselves on the ground in an agony of grief and disappointment.
They watched the ship sail away and away, hoping against hope that she might even yet return.
They watched until the stars shone out and darkness brooded over the deep, and then a strange thing happened: a great gleam of light was seen on the distant horizon, and above it clouds of rolling smoke through which tongues and jets of flame were flashing.
The brig was on fire and burning fiercely!
Her very masts and rigging were seen for a time, darkling through the blaze.
No one thought of leaving the hill now; they would see the last of that mysterious ship.
Yes, and the last came within an hour.
An immense fountain of fire rose high into the air, lighting the sea up in one broad crimson bar from horizon to shore – then darkness.
Nothing more.
Nor were any signs of that unfortunate brig seen next day. No boat floated towards the island, nor was a single spar ever picked up along the beach.
It would be impossible to describe the feelings of the Crusoes as they went slowly homeward through the jungle, guided by Fitz and Bob.
“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away.” That was all the remark that James Malone made.
And the mystery of that unhappy brig none can ever unravel.
To the end of time it must remain one of the awful secrets of the sea.
Book Three – Chapter Seven.
Strange Adventures in a Crystalline Cave
Ten months more, and not another ship was seen.
It was now two years and over since the beautiful barque Sea Flower had sailed away from Southampton. Not a very long time, it may be said. No; and yet it seemed a century to look back upon, so many strange events and adventures had been crowded into those four-and-twenty months, and so much sorrow and suffering too.
“Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.”
Ah! the hearts of all were sad and sick enough by this time.
“Some day, some day a ship will come!”
Every one fore and aft was weary with repeating these words.
They went not now so often to the foot of Fire Hill, as the volcano had come to be called, in search of the buried cave.
A buried cave it doubtless was, covered entirely by the flow of lava from the crater, and lost, it would seem, for ever.
But whole days would be spent in rambling about in search of the only kind of game the lonely island afforded, those small black pigs and the rock-rabbits, or in fishing by stream or at sea.
When I say “at sea,” it must not be imagined that they fished in Treachery Bay. No; for to have done so would doubtless have invited the attention of the savages, and they might have paid the island a visit that would have been very little relished. Natives of those South Pacific islands have keen eyesight.
But the dinghy boat had been hauled right across the island and launched in a little bay there. A cave was found, and this formed a capital boat-house, for it rose so high behind that the tide could not reach it.
The time had come when fishing was very necessary indeed, for well “found” though the Sea Flower had been, especially with all kinds of tinned provisions and biscuits, these had been nearly all consumed, and for some months back the Crusoes had depended for their support almost entirely on rod and gun. I say almost advisedly; for many kinds of vegetables and roots grew wild in this lonely island, not to mention fruits, the most wholesome and delicious that any one could desire.
Ah, reader, do not imagine that because you have eaten bananas, or even guavas, which you have purchased in this country, that you can form a perfect idea of the flavour and lusciousness of those fruits when gathered from the trees in their native wilds. Moreover, there are fruits in the woods of the Pacific islands so tender that they could not be carried by sea, nor kept for even a day in the tropics; and these are the best of all. So that on Misfortune Island there was no danger of starvation, unless indeed the Crusoes should have the misfortune to be surrounded by the savages and placed in a state of siege.
It was against such an eventuality that the last of the tinned meats was so carefully reserved: and the last of the coals too, because these latter would be needed for the donkey engine, to make steam to be condensed and used as drinking water.
Three times a week, at least in good weather, did a little band set out for the fishing cove, and this consisted of Ransey Tansey himself, Nelda, and little Fitz, to say nothing of Bob.
Now the cove was quite six miles away. Six miles going and six coming back would have been too long a journey for Nelda; but as the child liked to accompany the boys, and they were delighted to have her company, the two lads consulted together and concluded they must carry her at least half the way.
This was a capital plan for Nelda, and quite romantic, for the modus portandi was a grass hammock suspended from a long bamboo pole, one end resting on Ransey’s shoulder, the other on Fitz’s.
Nelda would be talking or singing all the way. But on the return journey she got down more often, because she never went back without a basket well filled with fruit and flowers.
Bob used to trot on in front always. This he deemed it his duty to do. Was he not a guard?
On rare occasions the Admiral also formed part of the expedition, but he preferred not going to sea in that wobbly boat.
When invited to embark, he would simply look at Babs or Ransey with one wise red eye, and say, “No, thank you, dear. A sea life doesn’t quite suit my constitution; and if it is all the same to you, I’ll just hop about the beach here until you all return.”
It did not take a very long time for the children, as I may still call them, to find all the fish they could conveniently carry. Then they returned to the beach, entered the cave, and cooked their dinner.
They invariably started to go back two or three hours before sunset.
About this cave there was a kind of mystery to the imaginative mind of little Nelda, and she peopled the gloom and darkness far beyond with all sorts of strange beings.
But when one day Ransey Tansey proposed exploring it, she evinced very much reluctance to going herself.
“I’m afraid,” she said; “the giants might catch me and kill me.”
Fitz laughed, and Ransey assured her that the cave was not inhabited by even a single giant. It was all imagination.
“There might be snakes,” she persisted, “or awful alligators.”
Fitz laughed again, and Nelda felt more assured.
“You see me go, sah!” he said; “Is’e not afraid. Ha, ha! it take one much big giant and plenty big ’gator to flighten dis chile.”
He ran out of the cave now, but soon came back carrying a heap of withered grass and foliage.
Then he snatched up a burning brand.
“Now!” he cried, “dis chile done go to ’vestigate.”
Fitz was fond of exploiting a big word, although he never succeeded in pronouncing much more than three-quarters of it.
Presently the brave little lad disappeared, for the darkness had swallowed him up.
The cave at its other end turned to the right and then to the left, so that although Fitz lit his fire it could not be seen by those left behind.
Ransey and Nelda were becoming quite uneasy about him, when suddenly his voice was heard in the dark distance, coming nearer and nearer every moment, till he once more stood in the broad glare of day at the main entrance to the cave.
“So glad you’ve come back, Fitz,” cried Ransey, “for we had almost given you up; we thought the ’gators had swallowed you.”
Nelda, too, was glad, and so was honest Bob. He ran round and round him, barking.
The echo of the far interior took up the sound and gave back “wowff” for “wowff,” much to the dog’s astonishment. He made quite sure that another dog was hiding away in the darkness somewhere, and promised himself the infinite pleasure of shaking him out of his skin some day.
But the story of exploration that Fitz had to tell was indeed a wonderful one.
He had found an interior cave, and when he lit his fire, the sight of it, he declared to Ransey, was far more beautiful than Paradise. All around him, he said, was a mass of icicles, but all of crystal, and on the floor were hundreds and hundreds of great crystal candles.
“I not can splain (explain) propah,” he said. “Too much foh one leetle niggah boy to splain, but all about me dat cave sparkle and shine wid diamonds, rubies, and rainbows.”
So before they got home that night they made up their minds to explore the marvellous cave in company.
Nothing was said to any one else about their intention; only when they set out some days after this to go to the cave as usual, Ransey Tansey took with him several blue, red, and white lights. He determined in his own mind that this stalactite cave should be turned into a kind of fairy palace for once in a way.
He also carried a small bull’s-eye lantern, so that when lights went out they should not be plunged into darkness altogether.
They had been rather longer than usual in starting on this particular morning, and as the day was very beautiful, and the trees and flowers, butterflies and birds, all looking bright and gay, they must have lingered long on the road. At all events, it was quite one o’clock before they arrived at the cove, reached the cave, and launched their boat.
The fish, moreover, seemed to-day anxious to be caught, and excellent sport was enjoyed.
It only wanted two hours to sunset when they regained the mouth of the cave.
There would be moonlight to guide them home, however, even if they should be half an hour late.
Yes, and it was a full moon too. Mark this, reader, for with each full moon comes a spring tide!
I have no words to convey to any one the glorious sight they beheld when they at last entered the stalactite cave and lit their fire of wood and grass. Fitz had described it well – crystal icicles all around hanging from the vaulted roof, and raised high above the snow-white floor; walls of crystal, and strange, weird statues of a kind of marble.
They sat there in silent admiration until the fire began to burn low; then Ransey Tansey lit up the cave, first with a dazzling white light, then with blue, and finally with crimson.
And this ended the show, but it was one that Nelda would dream about for weeks to come.
How long they had stayed in this wondrous cave they could not tell, but, lo! to their dismay, when they reached the place where they had drawn up the boat, it was gone, and the waves were lapping up far inside. The dinghy had been floated away, and they were thus imprisoned for the night.
The moon, too, had gone down, for in these seas it neither rises nor sets at the same time it does in Britain.
Little Nelda was afraid to spend the night near to the dark water. Some awful beast, she said, might come out and drag her in, so back they went to the crystal cave. Alas! it had lost its charm now.
What a lonesome, weary time it was, and they dared not leave before daylight!
The fearless boy Fitz, after many, many hours had passed, went away, like a bird from the ark, to see if the waters were yet assuaged. He brought back word that the sun was rising, but that the water was still high.
The truth is, they had all slept without knowing it, and during this time the tide had gone back and once more risen, or, in other words, it had ebbed and flowed.
The anxiety of Tandy and the others on board the hulk may be better imagined than described when night fell and the wanderers did not return. For a time they expected them every minute, for the moon was still shining bright and clear in the west and tipping the waves with silver.
Tandy set out by himself at last, hoping to meet the little party. He walked for fully two miles along the track by which they most often came. Again and again he shouted and listened, but no answering shout came back to his, though he could hear now and then the dreary cry of a night-bird as it flew low over the woods in the gauzy glamour that the moon was shedding over everything.
But the moon itself would shortly sink, and so, uncertain what to do next, he returned, hoping against hope that the children might have reached the hulk before him.
What a long, dreary night it was! No one slept much. Of this I am sure, for the lost ones were friends both fore and aft.
But the greatest sorrow was to come, for, lo! when next morning at daybreak they reached the cave, the first thing that caught their eyes was the dinghy – beached, but bottom uppermost. Fishing gear and the oars were also picked up; but, of course, there was no sign of the children.
With grief, poor Tandy almost took leave of his senses, and it was indeed a pitiable sight to see him wandering aimlessly to and fro upon the coral beach, casting many a hopeless glance seawards.
Good, indeed, would it have been for him had tears come to his relief. But these were denied him. Even the consolations that honest James Malone poured into his ears were unheeded; perhaps they were hardly even heard.
“Death comes to all sooner or later. We do wrong to repine. Ah, my dear Tandy, God Himself knows what is best for us, and our sorrows here will all be joys in the land where you and I must be ere long.”
Well-meant platitudes, doubtless, but they brought no comfort to the anguished heart of the poor father.
It was noticed by one of the men that the strange bird Admiral, who had accompanied the search party, seemed plunged in grief himself. He walked about the beach, but ate nothing. He perched upon the keel of the upset boat, and over and over again he turned his long neck downwards, and wonderingly gazed upon the fishing gear and oars.
Then he disappeared.
We must now return to the cave where we left our smaller heroes.
Ransey Tansey’s greatest grief was in thinking about his father. It would be quite a long time yet before the tide ebbed sufficiently to permit them to leave the cave and scramble along the beach to the top of the cove. Well, there was nothing for it but to wait. But this waiting had a curious ending.
They had returned to the stalactite cave, and Ransey had once more lit his lamp, when suddenly, far at the other end, they heard something that made poor Nelda quake with fear and cling to her brother’s arm.
“Oh, it is a ghost!” she cried – “an old woman’s ghost!”
I cannot otherwise describe the sound than as a weary kind of half sigh, half moan, on a loud falsetto key.
No wonder Nelda thought it emanated from some old lady’s ghost; though what an old lady’s ghost could possibly be doing down here, it would have been difficult indeed to guess.
Bob took another view of the matter. He barked loudly and lustily, and rushed forward. It was no angry bark, however.
Next minute he came running back, and when Ransey Tansey turned the light on him he could see by the commotion among the long, rough hair which covered his rump that the fag-end of a tail he possessed was being violently but joyfully agitated.
“Come on,” he seemed to say; “follow me. You will be surprised!”
Without fear now, the children followed the dog, and, lo! not far off, standing solemnly in a kind of crystalline pulpit, was the Admiral himself. No wonder they were all astonished, or that the bird himself seemed pleased. But off the crane hopped now, the dog and the children too following, and there, not thirty yards from the place where they had been all night, was a landward opening into the cave.
