Pan had sat on the strand watching them till they appeared about to land
on the other side, then at the sound of his name he swam to them. Now
you might see how superior he was, for the two human animals stood there
afraid to enter the island lest a rough bough should abrade their skins,
a thorn lacerate, or a thistle prick their feet, but Pan no sooner
reached the land than he rushed in. His shaggy natural coat protected
him.
In a minute out came a moorhen, then another, and a third, scuttling
over the surface with their legs hanging down. Two minutes more and Pan
drove a coot out, then a young duck rose and flew some distance, then a
dab-chick rushed out and dived instantaneously, then still more
moorhens, and coots.
“Why, there are hundreds!” said Mark. “What a place for our shooting!”
“First-rate,” said Bevis. “It’s full of moorhens and all sorts.”
So it was. The island of Serendib was but a foot or so above the level
of the water, and completely grown over with willow osiers (their blue
gum), the spaces between the stoles being choked with sedges and
reed-grass, vast wild parsnip stalks or “gix,” and rushes, in which mass
of vegetation the water-fowl delighted. They had been undisturbed for a
very long time, and they looked on Serendib as theirs; they would not
move till Pan was in the midst of them.
“We must bring the matchlock,” said Mark. “But we can’t swim with it.
Could we do it on the catamarans?”
“They’re awkward if you’ve got anything to carry,” said Bevis,
remembering his dip. “I know--we’ll make a raft.”
“Then we can go to all the islands,” said Mark, “that will be ever so
much better; why we can shoot all round them everywhere.”
“And go up the river,” said Bevis, “and go on the continent, the
mainland, you know, and see if it’s China, or South America--”
“Or Africa or Australia, and shoot elephants--”
“And rabbits and hares and peewits, and pick up the pearls on Pearl
Island, and see what there is at the other end of the world up there,”
pointing southwards.
“We’ve never been to the end yet,” said Mark. “Let’s go back and make
the raft directly.”
“The catamaran planks will do capital,” said Bevis, “and some beams, and
I’ll see how Ulysses made his, and make ours like it--he had a sail
somehow.”
“We could sail about at night,” said Mark, “nobody would see us.”
“No; Val or Charlie would be sure to see in the daytime; the stars would
guide us at night, and that would be just proper.”
“Just like they used to--”
“Yes, just like they used to when we lived three thousand years ago.”
“Capital. Let’s begin.”
“So we will.”
“Pan! Pan!”
Pan was so busy routing out the hitherto happy water-fowl that he did
not follow them until they had begun to swim, having waded as far as
they could. The shoals reduced the actual distance they had to swim by
quite half, so that they reached New Formosa without any trouble, and
dressed. They went to the hut that Bevis might read how Ulysses
constructed his ship or raft, and while they were looking for the book
saw the duck which they had plucked the evening before.
This put them in mind of dinner, and that if they did not cook it, it
would not be ready for them as it used to be at home. They were
inclined to let dinner take its chance, but buttered biscuits were
rather wearisome, so they concluded to cook the dinner first, and make
the raft afterwards. It was now very hot in the stockade, so the fire
was lit under the teak-tree in the shade, the duck singed, and hung on a
double string from a hazel rod stuck in the ground. By turning it round
the double string would wind up, and when left to itself unwind like a
roasting-jack.
The heat of the huge fire they made, added to that of the summer sun,
was too great--they could not approach it, and therefore managed to turn
the duck after a fashion with a long stick. After they had done this
some time, working in their shirtsleeves, they became impatient, and on
the eve of quarrelling from mere restlessness.
“It’s no use our both being here,” said Mark. “One’s enough to cook.”
“One’s enough to be cooked,” said Bevis. “Cooking is the most hateful
thing I ever knew.”
“Most awful hateful. Suppose we say you shall do it to-day and I do it
to-morrow, instead of being both stuck here by this fire?”
“Why shouldn’t you do it to-day, and _I_ do it to-morrow?”
“Toss up, then,” said Mark, producing a penny. “Best two out of three.”
“O! no,” said Bevis. “You know too many penny dodges. No, no; I know--
get the cards, shuffle them and cut, and who cuts highest goes off and
does as he likes--”
“Ace highest?”
“Ace.”
The pack was shuffled, and Mark cut a king. Bevis did not got a
picture-card, so he was cook for that day.
“I shall take the matchlock,” said Mark.
“That you won’t.”
“That I shall.”
“You won’t, though.”
“Then I won’t do anything,” said Mark, sulking. “It’s not fair; if you
had cut king you would have had the gun.”
Bevis turned his duck, poking it round with the stick, then he could not
help admitting to himself that Mark was right. If he had cut a king he
would have taken the gun, and it was not fair that Mark should not do
so.
“Very well,” he said. “Take it; mind it’s my turn to-morrow.”
Mark went for the matchlock, and came out of the stockade with it. But
before he had gone many yards he returned into the hut, and put it up on
the slings. Then he picked out his fishing-rod from the store-room, and
his perch-line and hooks, mixed some mustard and water in his tin mug,
and started off. Bevis, who had sat down far enough from the fire to
escape the heat, did not notice him the second time.
Mark walked into the wood till he found a moist place, there he poured
his mixture on the ground, and the pungent mustard soon brought some
worms up. These he secured, but he did not know how to carry them, for
the mug he used for drinking from, and did not like to put them in it.
Involuntarily feeling his pockets as people do when in difficulty, he
remembered his handkerchief; he put some moss in it, and so made a
bundle. He had but one mug, but he had several handkerchiefs in the
store-room, and need not use this one again.
Looking round the island for a place to fish, he came to a spot where a
little headland projected on the Serendib side, but farther down than
where they had bathed. At the end of the headland a willow trunk or
blue gum hung over the water, and as he came near a kingfisher flew off
the trunk and away round Serendib. Mark thought this a likely spot, as
the water looked deep, and the willow cast a shadow on one side, and
fish might come for anything that fell from the boughs. He dropped his
bait in, and sat down in the shade to watch his blue float, which was
reflected in the still water.
He had not used his right to take the matchlock, because when he came
out with it and saw Bevis, whose back was turned, he thought how selfish
he was, for he knew Bevis liked shooting better than anything. So he
put the gun back, and went fishing.
Against his own wishes Bevis acknowledged Mark’s reason and right;
against his own wishes Mark forbore to use his right that he might not
be selfish.
While Mark watched his float Bevis alternately twisted up the duck, and
sat down under the teak-tree with the Odyssey, in which he read that--
On the lone island’s utmost verge there stood
Of poplars, pines, and firs a lofty wood,
from which Ulysses selected and felled enough for his vessel, and,--
At equal angles these disposed to join;
He smooth’d and squared them by the rule and line.
Long and capacious as a shipwright forms
Some bark’s broad bottom to outride the storms,
So large he built the raft: then ribb’d it strong
From space to space, and nail’d the planks along;
These form’d the sides: the deck he fashioned last;
Then o’er the vessel raised the taper mast,
With crossing sailyards dancing in the wind,
And to the helm the guiding rudder join’d.
Pondering over this Bevis planned his raft, intending to make it of six
or eight beams of poplar, placed lengthways; across these a floor of
short lesser poles put close together; thirdly, a layer of long poles;
and above these the catamaran planks for the deck. He had not enough
plank to make the sides so he proposed to fix uprights and extend a
railing all round, and wattle this with willows, which would keep off
some of the wash of the waves, like bulwarks. Even then, perhaps, the
sea might flush the deck; so he meant to fasten the chest in the
store-room on it as a locker, to preserve such stores as they might take
with them.
A long oar would be the rudder, working it on the starboard side, and
there would be a mast; but of course such a craft could only sail before
the wind--she could not tack. In shallow water--they could pole along
like a punt better than row, for the raft would be cumbrous. Arranging
this in his mind, he let the duck burn one side; it had a tendency to
burn, as he could not baste it. Soon after he had sat down again he
wondered what the time was, and recollected the sundial.
This must be made at once, because it must be ready when Charlie made
the signal. He looked up at the sun, whose place he could distinguish,
because the branches sheltered his eyes from the full glare. The sun
seemed very high, and he thought it must be already noon. Giving the
duck a twist, he ran to the hut, and fetched a piece of board, his
compasses, and a gimlet. Another twist, and then under the teak-tree he
drew a circle with the compasses on the board, scratching with the steel
point in the wood.
With the gimlet he bored two holes aslant to each other, and then ran
for two nails and a file. In his haste, having to get back to turn the
roast, he did not notice that the matchlock was hung up in the hut. He
filed the heads off the nails, and then tapped them into the gimlet
holes; they wanted a little bending, and then their points met, forming
a gnomon, like putting the two forefingers together.
Then he bored two holes through the board, and inserted other nails half
through, ready for hammering into the post. The post he cut from one of
the poles left from the fence; it was short and thick, and he sharpened
it at one end, leaving the top flat as sawn off. Fetching the iron bar,
he made a hole in the ground, put the post in, and gave it one tap; then
the duck wanted turning again.
As he returned to his work he remembered that in the evening the teak
and the other trees of the wood cast long shadows towards the hut, which
would blot out the time on the sundial. It ought to be put where the
full beams would fall on it from sunrise to sunset. The cliff was the
very place. He ran up and chose a spot which he could see would be free
from shadow, pitched the post, and ran down to the duck.
Next he carried up the dial, and nailed it to the top of the post; the
two nails kept it from moving if touched, and were much firmer than one.
The gnomon at once cast a pointed shadow on that side of the circle
opposite the sun, but there were as yet no marks for the hours. He
could not stay to look at his work, but went down to the teak, and began
to wonder why he did not hear Mark shoot, though very likely in the heat
of the day the water-fowl did not cross the open water to the island.
Thinking of shooting reminded him of the sight so much wanted at the top
of the barrel. He could not solder anything on, nor drill a hole, and
so fix it, nor was it any use to file a notch, because nothing would
stick in the notch, as iron is not like wood. Perhaps sealing-wax
would--a lump of sealing-wax--but he had none in the store-room; it
would not look proper either, and was sure to get chipped off directly.
Could he tie anything on? The barrel was fastened into the stock with
wire, why not twist two pieces of wire round, and put a nail head (the
nail filed off very short) between them, very much as hats are hung with
the brim between two straps.
That would do, but presently he thought of a still easier way, which was
to put a piece of wire round the barrel and fasten it, but not tight, so
that it was like a loose ring. Then with the pliers seize the part at
the upper side of the barrel and twist it, forming a little loop of the
loose wire; this would tighten the ring, then twisting the upper loop
round it would make a very short and tiny coil upon itself, and this
coil would do capitally for a sight.
He wished Mark would come with the matchlock, that he might put the
sight on at once. He looked at the duck; it seemed done, but he was not
certain, and sat down to rest again in the shadow. A cooing came from
the wood, so there were doves which had not yet finished nesting. Bevis
was very tired of turning the roast, and determined to try if they could
not make an earth oven. The way he thought was to dig a hole in the
ground, put in a layer of hot embers, then the meat; then another layer
of hot embers; so that the meat was entirely surrounded with them: and
finally, a cover of clay placed over to quite confine the heat.
One little hole lets out the steam or gas: it is made by standing a
small stick in the oven, and then when all is finished, drawing it out
so as to leave a tube. He was not certain that this was quite right,
but it was all he could remember, and it would be worth trying. This
horrible cooking took up so much time, and made him so hot and
uncomfortable: shipwrecked people wanted a slave to do the cooking. But
he thought he should soon whistle for Mark. Pan had gone with him, but
now came back, as Bevis supposed, weary of waiting in ambush; but, in
fact, with an eye to dinner.
Mark’s float did not move: it stood exactly upright, it did not jerk,
causing a tiny ripple, then come up, and then move along, then dive and
disappear, going down aslant. It remained exactly upright, as the
shot-weight on the line kept it. There was no wind, so the line out of
the water did not blow aside and cause the float to rotate. Long since
he had propped his rod on a forked stick, and weighted the butt with a
flat stone, to save himself the trouble of holding it.
He sat down, and Pan sat by him: he stroked Pan and then teased him; Pan
moved away and watched, out of arm’s reach. By-and-by the spaniel
extended himself and became drowsy. Mark’s eyes wearied of the blue
float, and he too stretched himself, lying on his side with his head on
his arm, so that he could see the float, if he opened his eyes, without
moving. A wagtail came and ran along the edge of the sand so near that
with his rod he could have reached it. Jerking his tail the wagtail
entered the still water up to the joints of his slender limbs, then came
out, and ran along again.
Mark’s head almost touched the water: his hair (for his hat was off, as
usual) was reflected in it, and a great brown water-beetle passed
through the reflection. A dove--his parrakeet--came over and entered
the wood; it was the same Bevis afterwards heard cooing. Mark half
opened his eyes, and thought the wagtail’s tiny legs were no thicker
than one of Frances’s hair-pins.
The moorhens and coots had now recovered from the fright Pan had given
them. As he gazed through the chinks of his eyelids along the surface
of the water, he could see them one by one returning towards Serendib,
pausing on the way among the weeds, swimming again, with nodding heads,
turning this side and that to pick up anything they saw; but still,
gradually approaching the island opposite. They all came from one
direction, and he remembered that when Pan hunted them out, they all
scuttled the same way. So did the wild duck; so did the kingfisher. “I
believe they all go to the river,” Mark thought; “the river that flows
out through the weeds. Just wait till we have got our raft.”
Something swam out presently from the shore of New Formosa; something
nearly flush with the water, and which left a wake of widening ripples
behind it, by which Mark knew it was a rat: for water-fowl, though they
can move rapidly, do not cause much undulation. The rat swam out a good
way, then turned and came in again. This coasting voyage he repeated
down the shore several times.
To look along the surface, as Mark did, was like kneeling and glancing
over a very broad and well polished table, your eyes level with it. The
slightest movement was visible a great way--a little black speck that
crossed was seen at once. The little black speck was raised a very
small degree above the surface, and there was something in the water not
visible following it.
The water undulated, but less than behind the rat; now the moorhens nod
their heads to and fro, as you or I nod: but this black speck waved
itself the other way, from side to side, as it kept steadily onwards.
Mark recognised a snake, swimming swiftly, its head (black only from
distance and contrast with the gleam of the crystal top of the polished
table) just above the surface, and sinuous length trailing beneath the
water. He did not see whence the snake started, but he saw it go across
to the weeds at the extreme end of Serendib, and there lost it.
He thought of the huge boa-constrictors hidden in the interior of New
Formosa, they would be basking quite still in such heat, but he ought to
have brought his spear with him. You never ought to venture from the
stockade in these unknown places without a spear. By now the shadows
had moved, and his foot was in the sunshine: he could feel the heat
through the leather. Two bubbles came up to the surface close to the
shore: he saw the second one start from the sand and rise up quickly
with a slight wobble, but the sand did not move, and he could not see
anything in it.
His eyes closed, not that he slept, but the gleam of the water inclined
them to retire into the shadow of the lids. After some time there was a
shrill pipe. Mark started, and lifted his head, and saw the kingfisher,
which had come back towards his perch on the willow trunk. He came
within three yards before he saw Mark; then he shot aside, with a shrill
whistle of alarm, rose up and went over the island.
In starting up, Mark moved his foot, and a butterfly floated away from
it: the butterfly had settled in the sunshine on the heated leather.
With three flutters, the butterfly floated with broad wings stretched
out over the thin grass by the shore. It was no more effort to him to
fly than it is to thistledown.
The same start woke Pan. Pan yawned, licked his paw, got up and wagged
his tail, looked one way and then the other, and then went off back to
Bevis. The blue float was still perfectly motionless. Mark sat up,
took his rod and wound up the winch, and began to wander homewards too,
idly along the shore. He had gone some way when he saw a jack basking
by a willow bush aslant from him, so that the markings on his back were
more visible than when seen sideways, for in this position the
foreshortening crowded them together. They are like the water-mark on
paper, seen best at a low angle, or the mark on silk, and somewhat
remind you of the mackerel.
Volume Two, Chapter XVIII.