TIME OF TRIAL
It would have been difficult to find better quarters than those provided
by this cave. The various recesses hollowed out inside it made capital
separate rooms.
It was a trifling disadvantage, that these recesses, which were of
varying depth, were rather dark during the day, and that the cave itself
was never very light. For, except in bad weather, it would only be
occupied at night. At earliest dawn Captain Gould would be carried
outside, to drink in the salt, invigorating air and bask in the
sunshine.
Inside the cave Jenny arranged to occupy one of the recesses with her
husband. A larger one, sufficient to accommodate all three of them, was
taken possession of by James Wolston and his wife and little Bob. Frank
contented himself with a corner in the large hall, where he shared the
company of the skipper and the boatswain.
The remainder of the day was given up entirely to rest. The boat’s
passengers had to recuperate after the many emotions of this last week
and the awful trial they had endured so bravely.
Wisdom dictated their resolution to spend a fortnight in this bay, where
material existence seemed to be secured for some time to come. Even if
the Captain’s condition had not required that they should do so, John
Block would not have advised an immediate departure.
In the evening, after a second meal of turtle soup, and turtle flesh and
eggs, Frank led them in prayer, and all went into the cave. Captain
Gould, thanks to the ministrations of Jenny and Dolly, was no longer
shaking with fever. His wound now closing, gave him less pain. He was
progressing rapidly towards complete recovery.
To keep a watch during the night was needless. There was nothing to fear
on this lonely shore, neither savages nor wild beasts. It was unlikely
that these gloomy and depressing wastes had ever been visited by man
before. The stillness was only broken by the harsh and melancholy cry of
the sea-birds as they came home to their crannies in the cliff. The
breeze died gradually away, and not a breath of air stirred till the
rising of the sun.
The men were out at daybreak. First of all John Block went down the
beach along the promontory and made for the boat. It was still floating
but would soon be left high and dry by the ebb tide. Being fastened by
hawsers on both sides, it had not bumped against the rocks, even when
the tide was at its highest, and as long as the wind continued to blow
from the east it could come to no harm. In the event of the wind veering
to the south they would see if it was necessary to look for other
moorings. Meantime the weather seemed to be definitely set fair, and
this was the fine season.
When he got back the boatswain sought out Fritz and spoke to him about
this.
“It’s worth giving a little thought to,” he said. “Our boat comes before
everything else. A snug cave is fine. But one doesn’t go to sea in a
cave, and when the time comes for us to leave—if it ever does come—it’s
important that we shouldn’t be prevented from doing so.”
“Of course, Block,” Fritz answered. “We will take every possible care to
prevent the boat coming to harm. Do you think perhaps there is a better
mooring for her on the other side of the promontory?”
“We’ll see, sir, and since everything is all right on this side I will
go round to the other and hunt turtles. Will you come with me?”
“No, Block. Go alone. I am going back to the captain. This last good
night’s rest must have reduced the fever. When he wakes he will want to
discuss the situation. I must be there to tell him all that has
happened.”
“Quite right, Mr. Fritz; and mind you tell him that there is nothing to
be uneasy about at present.”
The boatswain went to the far end of the promontory, and sprang from
rock to rock across the creek towards the place where he and Frank had
come upon the turtles the day before.
Fritz returned to the cave, up to which Frank and James were busy
bringing armfuls of sea-weed. Mrs. Wolston was dressing little Bob.
Jenny and Dolly were still with the captain. In the corner of the
promontory the fire crackled under the stove, and the kettle began to
boil, white steam escaping from its spout.
When Fritz had finished his conversation with the captain, he and Jenny
went down to the beach. They walked a little way and then turned back
under the lofty cliff which enclosed them like a prison wall.
Fritz spoke in tones of deep emotion.
“Dear wife, I must talk to you of what is in my heart. I can see you
with me in the canoe after I had found you upon Burning Rock. And then
our meeting with the pinnace, and our return to Rock Castle with all the
others! Two happy years slipped by with nothing to mar their quiet
happiness! You were the joy and charm of our circle. We were so
accustomed to life under those conditions that it seemed as if there
were no world outside our island. And if it had not been for the thought
of your father, beloved, perhaps we should not have sailed on the
_Unicorn_—perhaps we should never have left New Switzerland.”
“Why do you talk now of this, Fritz, dear?” said Jenny, greatly moved.
“I want to tell you how heavy my heart has been since ill fortune has
set in upon us. Yes! I am full of remorse at having brought you to share
it with me!”
“You must not fear ill fortune,” Jenny answered. “A man of your courage,
your energy, will not give way to despair, Fritz.”
“Let me finish, Jenny! One day the _Unicorn_ arrived, over there, off
New Switzerland. She went away again, and took us to Europe. From that
moment misfortune has never ceased to strike you. Colonel Montrose died
before he could see his child——”
“Poor father!” said Jenny, her eyes wet. “Yes, that happiness was
withheld from him—of clasping me in his arms, and rewarding my rescuer
by placing my hand in his. But God willed otherwise, and we must
submit.”
“Well, Jenny dear,” Fritz went on, “at all events there you were, back
in England; you had seen your own land again; you might have remained
there with your own people and found quiet happiness.”
“Happiness! Without you, Fritz?”
“And then, Jenny, you would not have incurred fresh dangers, after all
those which you had escaped so miraculously. Yet you consented to follow
me back to our island again.”
“Do you forget that I am your wife, Fritz? Could I have hesitated to
leave Europe, to rejoin all those whom I love, your family, which is
mine henceforward?”
“But Jenny, Jenny, that does not make it less true that I drew you into
fresh danger—and danger that I cannot think of without panic. Our
present situation is desperate. Oh! those mutineers who caused it all,
who cast us adrift! And you, shipwrecked once in the _Dorcas_, now cast
again upon an unknown island even less habitable than Burning Rock!”
“But I am not alone; I have you, and Frank, and our friends, brave and
determined men. Fritz, I shrink from no dangers present or to come! I
know that you will do everything possible for our safety.”
“Everything, my darling,” Fritz exclaimed, “but though the thought that
you are there must double my courage, yet it also grieves me so much
that I want to throw myself at your knees and beg for your forgiveness!
It is my fault that——”
“Fritz,” she answered, clinging to him, “no one could possibly have
foreseen the things which have happened—the mutiny, and our being cast
adrift at sea. Far better forget the ill fortune and contemplate only
the good! We might have been murdered by the crew of the _Flag_, or
doomed to the tortures of hunger and thirst in the boat. We might have
perished in some storm. But instead we have reached a land which is not
quite without resources, which at least gives us shelter. If we do not
know what land it is we must try to find out, and we will leave it if we
find that we must.”
“To go—whither, my poor Jenny?”
“Somewhere else, as our dear boatswain would say; to go wherever God
wills that we shall!”
“My dear wife!” Fritz exclaimed. “You have given me back my courage!
Yes! We will fight on; we will not give way to despair. We will think of
the precious lives that are confided to our care. We will save them! We
will save them—with the help of God!”
“On whom we never call in vain!” said Frank, who had overheard the last
words spoken by his brother. “Let us keep our trust in Him, and He will
not forsake us!”
Under Jenny’s encouragement Fritz recovered all his energy. His
companions were as ready as he was to spend themselves in superhuman
efforts.
About ten o’clock, as the weather was fine, Captain Gould was able to
come and stretch himself in the sun at the far end of the promontory.
The boatswain returned from his trip round the creek as far as the foot
of the bluff to the east. Beyond that it was impossible to go. Even at
low tide it would have been useless to attempt to get round the foot of
this huge rock, about which the surf beat violently.
John Block had been joined by James in the creek, and both brought back
turtles and eggs. These chelones swarmed upon the shore. In anticipation
of an early departure it would be possible to lay in a large stock of
their flesh, which would secure a supply of food for the passengers.
After luncheon the men talked while Jenny, Polly, and Susan busied
themselves washing the spare linen in the fresh water of the stream. It
would dry quickly in the sun, for the day was hot. Afterwards, all the
clothes were to be mended, so that everybody might be ready to go aboard
the boat again directly it should be decided to make a start.
They had important questions to answer. What was the geographical
position of this land? Was it possible to ascertain it without
instruments, within a few degrees, taking the position of the sun at
noon as a basis for calculation? Such an observation could not be
absolutely accurate. But to-day it seemed to confirm the opinion,
already advanced by Captain Gould, that this land must lie between the
fortieth and thirtieth parallels. What meridian crossed it from north to
south there were no means of ascertaining, although the _Flag_ must have
been somewhere in the western waters of the Pacific Ocean.
Then the idea of reaching the upper plateau came up again. Pending the
recovery of the captain, was it not necessary to find out whether the
boat had come ashore on a continent, an island, or a mere islet? As the
cliff was seven or eight hundred feet high it was quite possible that
some other land might be visible a few miles out at sea. So Fritz and
Frank and the boatswain made up their minds to climb to the top of the
cliff.
Several days passed without bringing any change in the situation. Every
one realised the necessity of escaping from it somehow or other, and all
were seriously afraid that it might become worse. The weather remained
fine. The heat was great, but there was no thunder.
On several occasions John Block and Fritz and Frank had walked round the
bay from the western bastion as far as the bluff. In vain had they
looked for a gorge or less precipitous slope by which they might gain
the plateau above. The wall rose sheer.
Meantime the captain approached complete recovery. His wound was healed,
though it was still bandaged. The attacks of fever had become more and
more rare, and had now ceased. His strength was coming back slowly, but
he could now walk unsupported. He was always talking to Fritz and the
boatswain of the chances of another voyage in the boat northward. On the
morning of the 25th, he was able to go as far as the foot of the bluff,
and agreed that it was impossible to walk round the base of it.
Fritz, who had accompanied him, with Frank and John Block, offered to
dive into the sea and so get to the shore beyond. But although he was an
excellent swimmer, there was such a current running at the foot of the
bluff that the captain was obliged to order the young man not to put
this dangerous idea into execution. Once borne away by the current, who
could say if Fritz could have got back to the shore?
“No,” said Captain Gould, “it would be rash, and there is no good in
running into danger. We will go in the boat to reconnoitre that part of
the coast, and if we go a few cables’ length out, we shall be able to
get a more extended view of it. Unfortunately I am very much afraid that
it will be found to be as barren everywhere as it is here.”
“You mean that we are on some islet?” Frank remarked.
“There is reason to suppose so,” the captain replied.
“Very well,” said Fritz, “but does it follow that this islet is an
isolated point? Why should it not be part of some group of islands lying
to the north, east, or west?”
“What group, my dear Fritz?” the captain retorted. “If, as everything
goes to show, we are in Australian or New Zealand waters here, there is
no group of islands in this part of the Pacific.”
“Because the charts don’t show any, does it follow that there aren’t
any?” Fritz remarked. “The position of New Switzerland was not known and
yet——”
“Quite true,” Harry Gould replied; “that was because it lies outside the
track of shipping. Very seldom, practically never, do ships cross that
bit of the Indian Ocean where it is situated, whereas to the south of
Australia the seas are very busy, and no island, or group of any size,
could possibly have escaped the notice of navigators.”
“There is still the possibility that we are somewhere near Australia,”
Frank went on.
“A distinct possibility,” the captain answered, “and I should not be
surprised if we are at its south-west extremity, somewhere near Cape
Leeuwin. In that case we should have to fear the ferocious Australian
natives.”
“And so,” the boatswain remarked, “it is better to be on an islet, where
at any rate one is sure not to run up against cannibals.”
“And that is what we should probably know if we could get to the top of
the cliff,” Frank added.
“Yes,” said Fritz; “but there isn’t a single place where we can do it.”
“Not even by climbing up the promontory?” Captain Gould asked.
“It is practicable, although very difficult, as far as half way,” Fritz
answered, “but the upper walls are absolutely perpendicular. We should
have to use ladders, and even then success isn’t certain. If there were
some chimney which we could get up with ropes, it might perhaps be
possible to reach the top, but there isn’t one anywhere.”
“Then we will take the boat and reconnoitre the coast,” said Captain
Gould.
“When you are completely recovered, captain, and not before,” replied
Fritz firmly. “It will be several days yet before——”
“I am getting better, Fritz,” the captain declared; “how could it be
otherwise, with all the attention I have? Mrs. Wolston and your wife and
Dolly would have cured me merely by looking at me. We will put to sea in
forty-eight hours at latest.”
“Westward or eastward?” Fritz asked.
“According to the wind,” the captain replied.
“And I have an idea that this trip will be a lucky one,” the boatswain
put in.
Fritz, Frank, and John Block had already done all but the impossible in
their attempts to scale the promontory. They had got about two hundred
feet up, although the gradient was very steep, by slipping from one rock
to the next in the very middle of a torrent of landslides, with the
agility of chamois or ibex; but a third of the way up they had come to a
stop: It had been a highly dangerous attempt, and the boatswain had come
within an ace of breaking some of his bones.
But from that point all their attempts to continue the ascent were in
vain. The promontory ended here in a vertical section with a smooth
surface. There was not a foothold anywhere, not the tiniest projection
on which the boat’s ropes might have been caught. And they were still
six or seven hundred feet from the top of the cliff.
When they returned to the cave Captain Gould explained the decision
which had been reached. Two days hence, on the 27th of October, the boat
was to leave her moorings to go along the coast. Had a trip of several
days’ duration been involved, everybody would have gone in the boat. But
as only a general reconnaissance was contemplated, he thought it would
be better that only he should go with Fritz and the boatswain. They
three would be enough to handle the boat, and they would not go farther
away to the north than they must. If they found that the coast-line
bounded nothing more than an islet they could make the circuit of it and
be back within twenty-four hours.
Short as their absence might be, the idea of it excited great
uneasiness. The rest of the party would not be able to see their
companions go without much anxiety. How could they tell what might
happen? Suppose they were attacked by savages—suppose they could not get
back soon—suppose they did not come back at all?
Jenny used these arguments with characteristic energy. She insisted that
the many anxieties they endured already should not be added to by others
arising from an absence which might be prolonged. Fritz sympathised with
her arguments, Captain Gould accepted them, and ultimately it was agreed
that they should all take part in the projected exploration.
As soon as this decision had been arrived at, to the general
satisfaction, John Block got busy putting the boat in order. Not that it
required any repairs, for it had come to little harm since it had been
cast adrift, but it was well to overhaul it and fit it up in
anticipation of a possible extension of the voyage to some adjoining
land. So the boatswain worked his hardest to make it more comfortable,
enclosing the fore-deck so that the women might have shelter from
squalls and breaking waves.
There was nothing more to do but wait, and meanwhile lay in provisions
for a voyage which might perhaps be longer than was intended. Besides,
if it were necessary to leave Turtle Bay finally, ordinary prudence
suggested that they should do so without delay, that they should take
advantage of the fine season just beginning in these southern regions.
They could not but quail before the idea of a winter here. True, the
cave offered them a sure shelter against the storms from the south,
which are appalling in the Pacific. The cold, too, could no doubt be
faced, for there would be no lack of fuel, thanks to the enormous
collection of sea-weed at the foot of the cliff.
But suppose the turtles failed? Would they be reduced to fish as sole
diet! And the boat—where could they put that in safety, out of reach of
the waves which must break right up to the back of the beach in the
winter? Would they be able to haul it up above the highest tide-marks?
Harry Gould and Fritz and the rest had only their own arms to rely on,
not a tool, not a lever, not a lifting-jack, and the boat was heavy
enough to resist their united efforts.
At this time of year there was happily nothing but passing storms to
fear. The fortnight that they had spent ashore had enabled them all to
pick up their moral and physical strength as well as to recover
confidence.
Their preparations were completed in the morning of the 26th. Fritz
observed with some uneasiness that clouds were beginning to gather in
the south. They were still a long way off, but were assuming a lurid
hue. The breeze was almost imperceptible, yet the heavy mass of cloud
was rising in a solid body. If this thunderstorm burst it would burst
full upon Turtle Bay.
Hitherto the rocks at the far end of the promontory had protected the
boat from the easterly winds. From the other side, too, the westerly
winds could not have touched it, and firmly held as it was by hawsers,
it might have escaped too severe a buffeting. But if a furious sea swept
in from the open main, it would be unprotected and might be smashed to
pieces.
It was useless to think of trying to find some other mooring on the
other side of the bluff or of the bastion, for, even in calm weather,
the sea broke there with violence.
“What’s to be done?” Fritz asked the boatswain, and the boatswain had no
answer.
One hope remained—that the storm might blow itself out before it fell
upon the coast. But as they listened they could hear a distant rumbling,
although the wind was very faint. The sea was roaring out there in the
distance, and already intermittent flaws were sweeping over its surface,
giving it a livid tint.
Captain Gould gazed at the horizon.
“We are in for a bad spell,” Fritz said to him.
“I am afraid we are,” the captain acknowledged; “as bad a spell as our
worst fears could have imagined!”
“Captain,” the boatswain broke in, “this isn’t a time to sit and twiddle
one’s thumbs. We’ve got to use a little elbow grease, as sailormen say.”
“Let us try to pull the boat up to the top of the beach,” said Fritz,
calling James and his brother.
“We will try,” Captain Gould replied. “The tide is coming up and will
help us. Meanwhile let us begin by lightening the boat as much as we
can.”
All buckled to. The sails were laid upon the sand, the mast unstepped,
the rudder unshipped, and the seats and spars were taken out and carried
within the cave.
By the time the tide was slack the boat had been hauled about twenty
yards higher up. But that was not enough; she would have to be pulled up
twice as far again to be out of reach of the waves.
Having no other tools, the boatswain pushed planks under the keel, and
all combined to pull and push. But their efforts were useless: the heavy
boat was fixed in the sand and did not gain an inch beyond the last
high-water mark.
When evening came the wind threatened a hurricane. From the piled clouds
in the zenith flash after flash of lightning broke, followed by terrific
peals of thunder, which the cliff reechoed in appalling reverberations.
Although the boat had been left high and dry by the ebb tide, the waves,
momentarily becoming stronger, would soon lift it up from the stern.
And now the rain fell in big drops, so heavily charged with electricity
that they seemed to explode as they struck the sand on the shore.
“You can’t stay outside any longer, Jenny, dear,” said Fritz. “Do go
back into the cave, I beg you! You, too, Dolly, and you too, Mrs.
Wolston.”
Jenny did not want to leave her husband. But Captain Gould spoke
authoritatively.
“Go inside, Mrs. Fritz,” he said.
“You too, captain,” she replied; “you must not expose yourself to a
wetting yet.”
“I have nothing to fear now,” Harry Gould answered.
“Jenny, I tell you again, go back, there’s no time to lose!” Fritz
exclaimed.
And Jenny, Dolly, and Susan took refuge in the cave just as the rain, in
which hail was mingled, began to rattle down like grape-shot.
Captain Gould and the boatswain, Fritz, Frank, and James remained near
the boat, though it was with the utmost difficulty that they stood up
against the squalls which swept the shore. The waves were breaking in
the bay already and throwing their spray right over it.
The danger was acute. Would it be possible to sustain the boat against
the shocks which were rolling it from one side to the other? If it were
broken up, how would Captain Gould and his companions be able to get
away from this coast before the winter?
All five stood by, and when the sea came farther up and lifted the boat,
they hung on to its sides trying to steady it.
Soon the storm was at its height. From twenty places at once tremendous
flashes of lightning burst. When they struck the bastions they tore off
fragments which could be heard crashing upon the heaps of sea-weed.
An enormous wave, twenty-five or thirty feet high at least, was lifted
up by the hurricane and dashed upon the shore like a huge waterspout.
Caught in its grip Captain Gould and his companions were swept right up
to the heaps of sea-weed, and it was only by a miracle that the enormous
wave did not carry them back with it as it drew again to the sea!
The disaster feared so much had befallen them!
The boat, torn from its bed, swept up to the top of the beach and then
carried down again to the rocks at the end of the promontory, was
smashed, and its fragments, after floating for a moment in the creaming
foam of the backwater, disappeared from view round the bend of the
bluff!