After fastening the raft they returned towards the hut, for they were
hungry now, and knew it was late, when Pan set up such a tremendous
barking that they first listened, and then went to see. The noise led
them to the green knoll where the rabbit burries were, and they saw Pan
running round under the great oak thickly grown with ivy, in which Bevis
had seen the wood-pigeons alight.
They went to the oak, it was very large and old, the branches partly
dead and hung with ivy; they walked round and examined the ground, but
could see no trace of anything. Mark hurled a fragment of a dead bough
up into the ivy, it broke and came rustling down again, but nothing flew
out. There did not seem to be anything in the tree.
“The squirrels,” said Bevis, suddenly remembering.
“Why, of course,” said Mark. “How stupid of us--Pan, you’re a donk.”
They left the oak and again went homewards: now Pan had been quite quiet
while they were looking on the ground and up into the tree, but directly
he understood that they had given up the search he set up barking again
and would not follow. At the hut Bevis went in to cut some rashers from
the bacon which had not been cooked and Mark ran up on the cliff to see
the time.
It was already two o’clock--the work on the raft and the voyage to
Serendib had taken up the morning. Bevis showed Mark where some mice
had gnawed the edge of the uncooked bacon which had been lying in the
store-room on the top of a number of thing’s. Mark said once he found a
tomtit on the shelf pecking at the food they had left there, just like a
tomtit’s impudence!
“Rashers are very good,” said Bevis, “if you haven’t got to cook them.”
It was his turn, and he was broiling himself as well as the bacon.
“Macaroni eats his raw,” said Mark. They had often seen John Young
eating thick slices of raw bacon in the shed as he sat at luncheon.
“Horrible cannibal--he’s worse than Pan, who won’t touch it cooked.”
He looked outside the gate--there was the slice of the cooked bacon
Bevis had cut for the spaniel lying on the ground. Pan had not even
taken the trouble to put it in his larder. But something else had
gnawed at it.
“A rat’s been here,” said Mark. “Don’t you remember the jack’s head?”
“And mice in the cave,” said Bevis.
“And a tomtit on the shelf.”
“And a robin on the table.”
“And a wagtail was in the court yesterday.”
“A wren comes on the stockade.”
“Spiders up there,” said Mark, pointing to the corner of the hut where
there was a web.
“Tarantulas,” said Bevis, “and mosquitoes in the evening.”
“Everything comes to try and eat us up,” said Mark.
The moment man takes up his residence all the creatures of the wood
throng round him, attracted by the crumbs from his hand, or the spoil
that his labour affords. Hawks dart down on his poultry, weasels creep
in to the hen’s eggs, mice traverse the house, rats hasten round the
sty, snakes come in for the milk, spiders for the flies, flies for the
sugar, toads crawl into the cellar, snails trail up the wall, gnats
arrive in the evening, robins, wrens, tomtits, wagtails enter the
courtyard, starlings and sparrows nest in the roof, swallows in the
chimney, martins under the eaves, rabbits in the garden among the
potatoes--a favourite cover with all game--blackbirds to the
cherry-trees, bullfinches to the fruit-buds, tomtits take the very bees
even, cats and dogs are a matter of course, still they live on man’s
labour.
The sandy spot by the cliff had not been frequented by anything till the
cave was made and the hut built, and already the mice were with them,
and while Mark was saying that everything came to eat them up a wasp
flew under the awning and settled on the table.
“Frances ought to do this,” said Bevis, hot and cross, as amateur cooks
always are. “Here, give me some mushrooms, they’ll be nice. Don’t you
wish she was here?”
“Frances!” said Mark in a tone of horror. “No, that I don’t!”
In the afternoon they did nothing but wait for Charlie’s signal, which
he faithfully gave, and then they idled about till tea. Pan did not
come back till tea, and then he wagged his tail and looked very
mysterious.
“What have you been doing, sir?” said Bevis. Pan wagged and wagged and
gobbled up all the buttered damper they gave him.
“Now, just see,” said Mark. He got up and cut a slice of the cold
half-cooked bacon from the shelf. Pan took it, rolled his great brown
eyes, showing the whites at the corners, wagged his tail very short like
the pendulum of a small clock, and walked outside the gate with it.
Then he came back and begged for more buttered damper.
After tea they worked again at the raft, putting in the bulwarks and
carried the chest down to it for the locker. For a sail they meant to
use the rug which was now hung up for an awning, and to put up a roof
thatched with sedges in its place. The sun sank before they had
finished, and they then got the matchlock--it was Mark’s day--and went
into ambush by the glade to see if they could shoot another rabbit. Pan
had to be tied and hit once or twice, he wanted to race after the
squirrels.
They sat quiet in ambush till they were weary, and the moon was shining
brightly, but the rabbits did not venture out. The noise Pan had made
barking after the squirrels had evidently alarmed them, and they could
not forget it.
“Very likely he’s been scratching at the burries too,” whispered Bevis,
as the little bats flew round the glade, passing scarcely a yard in
front of them like large flies. “He shan’t leave us again like he did
this afternoon.”
It was of no use to stay there any longer, so they went quietly round
the shore of the island, and seeing something move at the edge of the
weeds, though they could not distinguish what, for the willow boughs
hung over, Mark aimed and fired. At the report they heard water-fowl
scuttling away, and running to the spot Pan brought out two moorhens,
one quite dead and the other wounded.
“There,” said Bevis, “you’ve shot every single thing.”
“Well, why don’t you use shot?--you’ll never kill anything with
bullets.”
“But I will,” said Bevis; “I will hit something with bullets. The
people in India can hit a sparrow, why can’t I? It’s my turn
to-morrow.”
But after supper, bringing out his journal, he found to-morrow was
Sunday.
“No, I can’t shoot till Monday. Mamma would not like shooting on
Sunday.”
“No--nor chopping.”
“No,” said Bevis, “we mustn’t do any work.”
All the while they were on the island they were, in principle,
disobedient, and crossing the wishes of the home authorities. Yet they
resolved not to shoot on the Sunday, because the people at home would
not like it. When Bevis had entered the launching of the raft and the
voyage to Serendib in the journal, they skinned the moorhens and
prepared them for cooking.
“This cooking is horrible,” said Mark.
“Hateful,” said Bevis; “I told you we ought to have Frances.”
“O! no; she would want her own way. She wants everything just as she
likes, and if she can’t have it, she won’t do anything.”
“There, it’s done,” said Bevis. “What we want is a slave.”
“Of course--two or three slaves, to work and chop wood, and fetch the
water.”
“Hit them if they don’t,” said Bevis.
“Like we hit Pan.”
“Tie them to a tree and lash them.”
“Hard.”
“Harder.”
“Great marks on their backs.”
“Howling!”
“Jolly!”
They played two games at bezique under the awning, and drank the last
drop of sherry mixed with water.
“Everything’s going,” said Bevis. “There’s no more sherry, and more
than half the flour’s gone, and Pan had the last bit of butter on the
damper at tea--”
“There ought to be roots on the island,” said Mark. “People eat roots
on islands.”
“Don’t think there are any here,” said Bevis. “This island is too old
for any to grow; it’s like Australia, a kind of grey-bearded place with
nothing but kangaroos.”
Soon afterwards they drew down the curtain and went to sleep. As usual,
Pan waited till they were firm asleep, and then slipped out into the
moonlight. He was lounging in the courtyard when they got up. By the
sun-dial it was eight, and having had breakfast, and left the fire
banked up under ashes--wood embers keep alight a long time like that--
they went down to bathe.
“How quiet it is!” said Mark. “I believe it’s quieter.”
“It does seem so,” said Bevis.
The still water glittered under the sun as the light south-east air drew
over it, and they could hear a single lark singing on the mainland,
somewhere out of sight.
“Somehow we can swim ever so much better here than we used to at home,”
said Mark, as they were dressing again.
“Ever so much,” said Bevis; “twice as far.” This was a fact, whether
from the continuous outdoor life, or from greater confidence now they
were entirely alone.
“How I should like to punch somebody!” said Mark, hitting out his fist.
“My muscles are like iron,” said Bevis, holding out his arm.
“Well, they are hard,” said Mark, feeling Bevis’s arm. So were his own.
“It’s living on an island,” said Bevis. “There’s no bother, and nobody
says you’re not to do anything.”
“Only there’s the potatoes to clean. What a nuisance they are!”
They began to dimly perceive that, perhaps, after all, women might be of
some use on the earth. They had to go back to the hut to get the dinner
ready.
“The rats have been at the potatoes,” said Bevis. “Just look!”
Mark came, and saw where something had gnawed the potatoes.
“And lots are gone,” he said. “I’m sure there’s a lot gone since
yesterday.”
“Pan, why don’t you kill the rats?” cried Bevis. Pan looked up, as much
as to say, “Teach me my business, indeed.”
“Bother!” said Mark.
“Bother!” said Bevis.
“Hateful!”
“Yah!” They flung down knives and potatoes.
“Would the raft be wrong on Sunday?”
“Not if it was only a little bit,” said Bevis.
“Just to Pearl Island?”
“No--that wouldn’t hurt.”
“Let the cooking stop.”
“Come on.”
Away they ran to the raft, and pushed off, making Pan come with them,
that he should not disturb the rabbits again. The spaniel was so lazy,
he would not even follow them till he was compelled. He sat gravely on
the raft by the chest, or locker, while they poled along the shore, for
it was too deep to pole in the middle of the channel. But at the
southern end of New Formosa the water shoaled, and they could leave the
shore. One standing one side, and one the other, they thrust the raft
along out among the islets, till they reached Pearl Island, easily
distinguished by the glittering mussel shells.
A summer snipe left the islet as they came near, circled round, and
approached again, but finding they were still there, sought another
strand. Pan ran round the islet, sniffing at the water’s edge, and
then, finding nothing, returned to the raft and sat down on his
haunches. The water on one side of Pearl Island was not more than four
or five inches deep a long way out, and it was from this shelving sand
that the crows got the mussels. They carried them up on the bank and
left the shells, which fell over open, and the wind blew the sand into
them. They found one very large shell, a span long, and took it as
spoil.
There was nothing else but a few small fossils like coiled snakes turned
to stone. Next they poled across to the islet off the extremity of
Serendib, where Pan had made such a noise. To get there they had to go
some distance round, as it was so shallow. They poled the raft in among
the reed-mace or bamboos, which rose above their heads out of the water
besides that part of the stalk under the surface. The reed-mace is like
a bulrush, but three times as tall, and larger. They cut a number of
these as spoils, and then landed. Pan showed a little more activity
here, but not much. He sniffed round the water’s edge, but soon
returned and stretched himself on the raft.
“He can’t smell anything here to-day,” said Bevis. “There’s a halcyon.”
A kingfisher went by, straight for New Formosa. The marks of moorhens’
feet were numerous on the shore and just under water, showing how calm
it had been lately, for waves would have washed up the bottom and
covered them. The islet was very small, merely the ridge of a bank, so
they pushed off again. Passing the bamboos, they paused and looked at
them--the tall stalks rose up around as if they were really in a thicket
of bamboo.
“Hark!”
They spoke together. It was the stern and solemn note of a bell
tolling. It startled them in the silence of the New Sea. The sound
came from the hills, and they knew at once it was the bell at the church
big Jack went to. The chimes, thin perhaps and weak, had been lost in
the hills, but the continuous toll of the five minutes bell penetrated
through miles of air. So in the bush men call each other by constantly
repeating the same hollow note, “Cooing,” and in that way the human
voice can be heard at an extraordinary distance. Each wave of sound
drives on its predecessor, and is driven by the wave that follows, till
the widening circle strikes the shore of the distant ear.
“Ship’s bell,” said Bevis presently, as they listened. “In these
latitudes the air is so clear you hear ships’ bells a hundred miles.”
“Pirates?”
“No; pirates would not make a noise.”
“Frigate?”
“Most likely.”
“Any chance of our being taken off and rescued?”
“Not the least,” said Bevis. “These islands are not down on any chart.
She’ll be two hundred miles away by tea-time. Bound for Kerguelen,
perhaps.”
“We shall never be found,” said Mark. “No hope for us.”
“No hope at all,” said Bevis. They poled towards Serendib, intending to
circumnavigate that island. By the time they had gone half-way, the
bell ceased.
“Now listen,” said Mark. “Isn’t it still?”
They had lifted their poles from the water, and there was not a sound
(the lark had long finished), nothing but the drip, drip of the drops
from the poles, and the slight rustle as the heavy raft dragged over a
weed. They could almost hear the silence, as in the quiet night
sometimes, if listening intently, you may hear a faint rushing, the
sound of your own blood reverberating in the hollow of the ear; in the
day it needs a shell to collect it.
“It is very curious,” said Bevis. “But we have not heard a sound of
anybody till that bell.”
“No more we have.”
There had been sounds quite audible, but absorbed in their island life
they had not heard them. To-day they were not busy. The recognition of
the silence which the bell had caused seemed to widen the distance
between them and home.
“We are a long way from home--really,” said Bevis.
“Awful long way.”
“But really?”
“Of course--really. It feels farther to-day.”
They could touch the bottom with their poles all the way round Serendib,
but as before, in crossing to New Formosa, had to give a stronger push
on the edge of the deep channel, to carry them over to the shallower
water. It was too late now to cook the moorhens, and they resolved to
be contented with rashers, and see if they could not get some more
mushrooms. Directly they got near the hut, Pan rushed inside the fence
and began barking. When they reached the place he was sniffing round,
and every now and then giving a sharp short bark, as if he knew there
was something, but could not make it out.
“Rats,” said Mark, “and they’ve taken the bacon bits Pan left outside
the gate.”
Pan did not trouble any more when they came in. After preparing the
rashers, and looking at the sun-dial, by which it was noon, Bevis went
to look for mushrooms on the knoll, while Mark managed the dinner.
Bevis had to go round to get to the knoll, and not wishing to disturb
the rabbits more than necessary, made Pan keep close to his heels.
But when he reached the open glade, Pan broke away, and rushing towards
the ivy-clad oak, set up a barking. Bevis angrily called him, but Pan
would not come, so he picked up a stick, but instead of returning to
heel, Pan dashed into the underwood, and Bevis could hear him barking a
long way across the island. He thought it was the squirrels, and looked
about for mushrooms. There were plenty, and he soon filled his
handkerchief. As he approached the hut, Mark came to meet him, and said
that happening to look on the shelf he had missed the piece of cooked
bacon left there,--had Bevis moved it?
Volume Three, Chapter IV.