THE COMING OF THE ALBATROSS
The situation seemed worse than ever. While they were in the boat,
exposed to all the perils of the sea, Captain Gould and his passengers
at least had a chance of being picked up by some ship, or of reaching
land. They had not fallen in with a ship. And although they had reached
land, it was practically uninhabitable, yet it seemed they must give up
all hope of ever leaving it.
“Still,” said John Block to Fritz, “if we had run into a storm like that
out at sea, our boat would have gone to the bottom and taken us with
it!”
Fritz made no reply. He hurried through a deluge of rain and hail to
take shelter with Jenny and Dolly and Susan, who were intensely anxious.
Owing to its position in the corner of the promontory, the inside of the
cave had not been flooded.
Towards midnight, when the rain had stopped, the boatswain piled a heap
of sea-weed near the mouth of the cave. A bright fire soon blazed,
drying their drenched clothes.
Until the fury of the storm abated the whole sky was incessantly ablaze.
The pealing thunder diminished as the clouds were driven rapidly towards
the north. But as long as distant lightning continued to light up the
bay, the wind blew with great force, lifting billows which plunged and
broke wildly on the shore.
At dawn the men came out of the cave. Tattered clouds were passing over
the cliff. Some, hanging lower, skimmed the surface. During the night
the lightning had struck it in several places. Huge fragments of rock
lay at its base. But there was no sign of a new cleft or crevice into
which it might be possible to squeeze, and so to reach the plateau
above.
Captain Gould, Fritz, and John Block took stock of what was left of the
boat. It comprised the mast, the foresail and the jib, the rigging, the
hawsers, the rudder, the oars, the anchor and its cable, the wooden
seats, and the casks of fresh water. Some use could no doubt be made of
most of these things, damaged as they were.
“Fortune has tried us cruelly!” Fritz said. “If only we had not these
poor women with us—three women and a child! What fate awaits them here
on this shore, which we cannot even leave now!”
Even Frank, with all his faith, kept silence this time. What could he
say?
But John Block was wondering whether the storm had not brought yet
another disaster upon the shipwrecked company, for so they might well be
described. Was there not good reason to fear that the turtles might have
been destroyed by the breakers, and their eggs smashed as the sand was
washed away? It would be an irreparable loss if this food supply failed.
The boatswain made a sign to Frank to come to him, and said a few words
in an undertone. Then both crossed the promontory and went down to the
creek, intending to go over it as far as the bluff.
While Captain Gould, Fritz, and James went towards the western bastion,
Jenny and Dolly and Susan resumed their usual occupations—what might be
called their household duties. Little Bob played on the sand in sublime
indifference, waiting for his mother to prepare some soaked biscuit for
him. Susan was overcome by grief and anxiety as she thought of the
distress and want which her child might not have the strength to endure.
After putting everything in order inside the cave, Jenny and Dolly came
out and joined Mrs. Wolston. Then very sadly they talked of their
present situation, which had been so sorely aggravated since the day
before. Dolly and Susan were more overcome than the courageous Jenny.
“What will become of us?” Susan asked.
“Don’t let us lose heart,” Jenny answered, “and above all don’t let us
discourage our men.”
“But we can never get away now,” Dolly said. “And when the rainy season
comes——”
“I tell you, Dolly, as I told Susan,” Jenny answered, “that no good is
done by giving up courage.”
“How can I keep any hope at all?” Mrs. Wolston exclaimed.
“You must! It’s your duty to!” Jenny said. “Think of your husband; you
will increase his misery a thousandfold if you let him see you cry.”
“You are strong, Jenny,” Dolly said; “you have fought misfortune before.
But we——”
“You?” Jenny replied. “Do you forget that Captain Gould and Fritz and
Frank and James and John Block will do everything that is possible to
save us all?”
“What can they do?” Susan demanded.
“I don’t know, Susan, but they will succeed provided we don’t hamper
them by giving way ourselves to despair!”
“My child! My child!” murmured the poor woman, choked by sobs.
Seeing his mother crying, Bob stood in wonder, with his eyes wide open.
Jenny drew him to her and took him on her knees.
“Mummy was anxious, darling! She called you, and you didn’t answer, and
then—you were playing on the sand, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Bob; “with the boat that Block made for me. But I wanted him
to make a little white sail for it, so that it could sail. There are
holes full of water in the sand where I can put it. Aunty Dolly promised
to make me a sail.”
“Yes, Bob dear; you shall have it to-day,” Dolly promised.
“Two sails,” the child answered; “two sails like the boat that brought
us here.”
“Of course,” Jenny answered. “Aunty Dolly will make you a lovely sail,
and I will make you one, too.”
“Thank you, thank you, Jenny,” Bob answered, clapping his hands. “But
where is our big boat? I can’t see it anywhere!”
“It has gone away—fishing,” Jenny answered. “It will come back soon,
with lots of beautiful fish! Besides, you have got your own; the one
that good John Block made for you.”
“Yes; but I am going to tell him to make me another, one in which I can
sail—with papa and mama, and aunty Dolly and Jenny, and everybody!”
Poor little fellow! He voiced so exactly what was wanted—the replacement
of the boat—and how was that to be done?
“Run away again and play, darling,” Jenny said to him; “and don’t go far
away.”
“No; over there; quite close, Jenny!”
And he kissed his mother and went bounding away as children of his age
will.
“Susan dear, and you, too, Dolly dear,” said Jenny, “God will see that
that little child is saved! And Bob’s rescue means our own! I do beg of
you, no more weakness, no more crying! Have faith in Providence as I
have, as I have always had!”
So Jenny spoke out of her brave heart. Come what might, she would never
despair. If the rainy season set in before the shipwrecked people could
leave this coast—and how could they leave it unless some ship took them
off?—arrangements would be made to spend a winter there. The cave would
give secure protection from the heavy weather. The heaps of sea-weed
would give fuel to protect them from the cold. Fishing, hunting perhaps,
would suffice to provide them with their daily bread.
It was of the first importance to know whether John Block’s fears about
the turtles were well founded. Happily they were not. After being away
for an hour, the boatswain and Frank came back with their accustomed
load of turtles, which had taken refuge under the heap of kelp. But they
had not a single egg.
“Never mind, they will lay, good old things,” said John Block cheerily.
It was impossible not to smile at the boatswain’s little joke. In the
course of their walk to the bastion, Captain Gould, Fritz, and James had
seen again the impossibility of getting round it in any other way than
by sea. Currents ran there, with tremendous force and in both
directions. Even in calm weather the violent surf would have prevented
any boat from getting close in, and the strongest swimmer might have
been carried out to sea or dashed upon the rocks.
So the necessity of getting to the top of the cliff by some other means
became more imperative than ever.
“How are we to do it?” said Fritz one day, gazing irritably at the
inaccessible crest.
“You can’t get out of a prison when its walls are a thousand feet high,”
was James’s answer.
“Unless you tunnel through them,” Fritz replied.
“Tunnel through that mass of granite—which is probably thicker than it
is high?” said James.
“Anyhow, we can’t remain in this prison!” exclaimed Fritz, in a burst of
impotent but uncontrollable anger.
“Be patient, and have confidence,” said Frank again.
“Patience I can have,” Fritz retorted, “but confidence—that is another
thing.”
And indeed on what might confidence be placed? Rescue could only come
from a ship passing beyond the bay. And if one came, would it see their
signals, the lighting of a huge fire on the beach or on the end of the
promontory?
A fortnight had passed since the boat came to land. Several more weeks
passed without bringing any change in the situation. As to the food
supplies, they were reduced to turtles and their eggs, and to
crustaceans, crabs and lobsters, some of which John Block was generally
able to catch. It was he who usually occupied himself with the fishing,
assisted by Frank. Lines with bent nails for hooks taken from the boat’s
planks, had rendered possible the capture of various kinds of fish:
dorado twelve to fifteen inches long, of a beautiful reddish colour and
excellent eating, and bass, or salt-water perch. Once even, a large
sturgeon was caught with a slip-knot which landed it on the sand.
The dog-fish, plentiful in these waters, were poor eating. But there was
obtained from them a grease used to make coarse candles, for which wicks
were fashioned out of dry sea-weed. Disturbing as the prospect of
wintering here might be, thought had to be given to it, and precautions
taken against the long and dark days of the rainy season.
The salmon, which used to go up Jackal River in New Switzerland in such
numbers at certain times of the year, were not forthcoming here. But one
day a school of herrings stranded at the mouth of the little stream.
Several hundreds of them were taken, and, smoked over a fire of dry
sea-weed, made an important reserve of food.
“Isn’t there a saying that herrings bring their own butter?” John Block
enquired. “Well, if so, here are some already cooked, and what I want to
know is what we shall do with all these good things!”
Several times during these six weeks attempts had been made to climb to
the top of the cliff. As all these attempts were fruitless, Fritz
determined to go round the bluff to the east. But he was careful to say
nothing of his intention to anyone except John Block. So, on the morning
of the 7th of December, the two men went to the creek, under the
pretence of collecting turtles at its eastern point.
There, at the foot of the enormous mass of rock, the sea was breaking
savagely, and to get round it Fritz must risk his life.
The boatswain vainly did his best to induce him to desist from the idea,
and, failing, had no choice but to help him.
After undressing, Fritz fastened a long line around his loins—one of the
boat’s yard-ropes—gave the other end to John Block, and jumped into the
sea.
The risk was twofold—of being caught by the surf and thrown against the
base of the bluff, and of being carried away by the current if the line
should break.
Twice did Fritz try without success to get free of the waves. It was
only at the third attempt that he succeeded in reaching and maintaining
a position in which he could look beyond the bluff, and then John Block
was obliged to pull him in again to the point—not without a good deal of
trouble.
“Well,” the boatswain enquired, “what is there beyond?”
“Nothing but rocks and more rocks!” Fritz answered as soon as he had
recovered his wind. “I only saw a succession of creeks and capes. The
cliff goes right on to the northward.”
“I’m not surprised,” John Block replied. When the result of this attempt
was made known—one can imagine Jenny’s emotions when she heard of it—it
seemed as if the last hope had vanished. This island, from which Captain
Gould and his boat’s company could not escape, was apparently nothing
better than an uninhabited and uninhabitable rock!
And this unhappy situation was complicated by so many bitter regrets!
But for the mutiny, the passengers on the _Flag_ would have reached the
fertile domain of the Promised Land a couple of months ago. Think of the
anguish of all those who were expecting them and watched in vain for
their coming!
Truly these relations and friends of theirs were more to be pitied than
Captain Gould and his company. At any rate, the forlorn company knew
that their dear ones were safe in New Switzerland.
Thus the future loomed heavy with anxiety, and the present was hard.
A new reason for alarm would have been added if all had known what only
Captain Gould and the boatswain knew—that the number of turtles was
decreasing perceptibly, in consequence of their daily consumption!
“But perhaps,” John Block suggested, “it is because the creatures know
of some passage underground through which they can get to the creeks to
the east and west; it is a pity we can’t follow them.”
“Anyhow, Block,” Captain Gould replied, “don’t say a word to our
friends.”
“Keep your mind easy, captain. I told you because one can tell you
everything.”
“And ought to tell me everything, Block!”
Thereafter the boatswain was obliged to fish more assiduously, for the
sea would never withhold what the land would soon deny. Of course, if
they lived exclusively on fish and mollusks and crustaceans, the general
health would suffer. And if illness broke out, that would be the last
straw.
The last week of December came. The weather was still fine, except for a
few thunderstorms, not so violent as the first one. The heat, sometimes
excessive, would have been almost intolerable but for the great shadow
thrown over the shore by the cliff, which sheltered it from the sun as
it traced its daily arc above the northern horizon.
At this season numbers of birds thronged these waters—not only sea-gulls
and divers, sea-mew and frigate-birds, which were the usual dwellers on
the shore. From time to time flocks of cranes and herons passed,
reminding Fritz of his excellent sport round Swan Lake and about the
farms in the Promised Land. On the top of the bluff, too, cormorants
appeared, like Jenny’s bird, now in the poultry-run at Rock Castle, and
albatrosses like the one she had sent with her message from the Burning
Rock.
These birds kept out of range. When they settled on the promontory it
was useless to attempt to get near them, and they flew at full speed
above the inaccessible crest of the cliff.
One day all the others were called to the beach by a shout from the
boatswain.
“Look there! Look there!” he continued to cry, pointing to the edge of
the upper plateau.
“What is it?” Fritz demanded.
“Can’t you see that row of black specks?” John Block returned.
“They are penguins,” Frank replied.
“Yes, they are penguins,” Captain Gould declared; “they look no bigger
than crows, but that is because they are perched so high up.”
“Well,” said Fritz, “if those birds have been able to get up on to the
plateau, it means that on the other side of the cliff the ascent is
practicable.”
That seemed certain, for penguins are clumsy, heavy birds, with
rudimentary stumps instead of wings. They could not have flown up to the
crest. So if the ascent could not be made on the south, it could be on
the north. But from lack of a boat in which to go along the shore this
hope of reaching the top of the cliff had to be abandoned.
Sad, terribly sad, was the Christmas of this most gloomy year! Full of
bitterness was the thought of what Christmas might have been in the
large hall of Rock Castle, in the midst of the two families, with
Captain Gould and John Block.
Yet, in spite of all these trials, the health of the little company was
not as yet affected. On the boatswain hardship had no more effect than
disappointment.
“I am getting fat,” he often said; “yes, I am getting fat! That’s what
comes of spending one’s time doing nothing!”
Doing nothing, alas! Unhappily, in the present situation, there was
practically nothing to do!
In the afternoon of the 29th something happened which recalled memories
of happier days.
A bird settled on a part of the promontory which was not inaccessible.
It was an albatross, which had probably come a long way, and seemed to
be very tired. It lay out on a rock, its legs stretched, its wings
folded.
Fritz determined to try to capture this bird. He was clever with the
lasso, and he thought he might succeed if he made a running noose with
one of the boat’s halyards.
A long line was prepared by the boatswain, and Fritz climbed up the
promontory as softly as possible.
Everybody watched him.
The bird did not move and Fritz, getting within a few fathoms of it,
cast his lasso round its body.
The bird made hardly any attempt to get free when Fritz, who had picked
it up in his arms, brought it down to the beach.
Jenny could not restrain a cry of astonishment.
“It is! It is!” she exclaimed, caressing the bird. “I am sure I
recognise him!”
“What?” Fritz exclaimed; “you mean——”
“Yes, Fritz, yes! It really is my albatross; my companion on Burning
Rock; the one to which I tied the note that fell into your hands.”
Could it be? Was not Jenny mistaken? After three whole years, could that
same albatross, which had never returned to the island, have flown to
this coast?
But Jenny was not mistaken, and all were made quite sure about it when
she showed them a little bit of thread still fastened round one of the
bird’s claws. Of the scrap of cloth on which Fritz had traced his few
words of reply, nothing now remained.
If the albatross had come from so far, it was no doubt because these
powerful birds can fly vast distances. Quite likely this one had come
from the east of the Indian Ocean to these regions of the Pacific
possibly more than a thousand miles away!
Much petting was lavished upon the messenger from Burning Rock. It was
like a link between the shipwrecked people and their friends in New
Switzerland.
Two days later the year 1817 reached its end.
What did the new year hold in store?