“A VAST GREEN AND FLOWERY VALLEY SURROUNDED BY ROMANTIC HILLS.”
“You bettah now, sah?”
“O yes, Brandy; I’ll soon be all right. But where are we?”
“I don’t know nuffin’ ’t all. On’y dis is an island--I make shuah ob
dat.”
“How long have I slept?”
“Two day, sah. I gib you plenty watah all de time; and you suckee he
down all same’s modder’s milk, sah. You will lib now.”
“And thanks to you. But who helped you up with the boat?”
“He, he, he! You not believe, plaps. But Brandy neveh tell lie. I hab de
paintah ob de boat all ready, and presently one big elerphant-to’toise
come down. Plenty quick I hitch de bight ober dat varmint’s neck. Den I
cried ‘shoo!’ Den he pull and I push, and ’way we go cheerily. But la!
de elerphant-to’toise, he had strangle his little self. And I make soup
of some of him, fo’ true!”
Hardly believing what Brandy said Tom got slowly up, and lo! there was
the dead tortoise right enough; and Tom had never seen such a monster[1]
before. Nor could he have seen one, for the creature belongs only to the
Galapagos Islands.
“Why, Brandy,” he said, “it is bigger than a feather bed. I begin to
believe, my boy, we have landed on one of the enchanted islands I used
to read of long ago; and I can easily fancy a ship-wrecked mariner
making a boat of the shell of one of these beasts, and with a bamboo
for a mast and his jacket for a sail, crossing the ocean to the
mainland. And you strangled him?”
“No, he strangle his little self, sah. I help jes’ a leetle wid de axe.
Den he bleed--O, he bleed mo’ dan one big bull, sah.”
“And where is the blood, Brandy?”
“De fly eatee he all up plenty quick, and de ants eatee all de fly
leave. Den I dink all de rest myself. But come, sah; de soup is all
ready.”
On board the _’Liza Ann_ Ginger Brandy had gone about his duties in a
very quiet way, indeed. He had shown himself smart enough, but had
exhibited no extra talent of any kind. Now, lo and behold! all his
nature was changed. He was in the wilds; he was part and parcel of the
wilds, and his capabilities of making the best of everything appeared to
know neither bounds nor limits. During the time Tom had been lying
insensible, he had not only got the boat drawn up, but had built a hut
inside a broken-down rocky cone, which looked like a small volcanic
crater. It was cool and clean. The roof was formed of the sail, and
inside was a soft bed of sea-weed. The provisions and ammunition were
also carefully stored here; and as there appeared to be no destroying
angels in the shape of ants about, everything was safe enough.
The soup was splendid. Tom felt a new man as soon as he had eaten a
shellful. They had no basins, only shells. But several pannikins or
billies were among the precious stores; so there seemed but little
likelihood that they would have to live on raw meat for many a day.
After dinner Tom noticed that Ginger Brandy was carefully banking the
fire with turf and ashes.
“Why not let it out, Brandy? You can light it again.”
“No, sah; nebber no mo’.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause, sah, I let fall de packet of lucifire match. One box catchee
fi’. Den I jump on de packet to stamp he out, and all de rest go puff.
You bery angry, sah?”
“No, my friend; it can’t be helped. Cheer up. I say, Brandy?”
“Yes, sah.”
“Isn’t it fun being a Crusoe? I used to be the Hermit Hunter of the
Wilds; now I’ve turned a Crusoe, and you’re my man Friday.”
“Befo’ de Lawd, sah,” said Ginger Brandy looking tremendously serious
all at once, “I tink de sun or de soup hab affect you’ head!”
Tom laughed.
“Don’t you know what a Crusoe is?”
“Sumfin’ to eat, plaps?”
“No, Brandy; it’s nothing to eat or drink either. Come, I’ll tell you
the story.”
And as far as he could remember it, Tom told Ginger Brandy all the
romance of Juan Fernandez, much to his delight.
“Dat is fus’rate, sah. Aha! you and I play at Crusoes. Aha! dere is
nuffin’ like fun. Is dere, sah? But now look, marster. De sun go down,
all red like one big slice ob pomola. You not well yet, sah. S’pose you
go to bed?”
And Tom did, and found himself so strong next morning that he was able
for a good long stroll.
Ginger Brandy came with him and helped to carry his gun.
What a mysterious looking place it was, and how black and dreary
everything a little way inland looked! Those fearsome lizards basking on
the dark burned rocks near the sea seemed the evil genii of the place.
Tom could not look at them without shuddering.
But bigger and more powerful genii than they have been at work here and
all about in ages long since passed away. The genii of volcanic fire and
water. The soil was everywhere brown and scorched looking, extinct
craters like shafts of founderies stood here and there, and ugly dark
boulders lay scattered in the open as if they had been rained from
heaven. Among these, snakes of many kinds wriggled hither and thither,
or lay coiled up in huge old half-broken shells. The very bushes
appeared black and blighted, and at a little distance seemed to have no
leaves; while the birds that flew from bough to bough were dusky, and
even the moths and beetles were sad in colour. And yet high above, the
sky was blue, and the billows out yonder sparkled in his rays as if
diamonds were being scattered on them by angels’ hands.
The shrubs and cacti that grew further from the sea had branches so
wildly erratic, and shapes so weird, that do what he would Tom could not
disabuse his mind of the notion that either he was really on an island
of enchantment, or that he was dreaming, and might awake at any moment
on board the _’Liza Ann_.
The gun so far was useless; there was nothing to shoot except those huge
elephantic tortoises, and that would have been cruel. They were as deaf
as posts, but wondrous quick in seeing. At a little distance many of
them looked like flat or rounded rocks; and it was therefore rather
startling to one’s nerves on getting alongside an immense slab of
supposed rock to find it had a long neck and awful head, and that it
hissed louder than a python, and began to move away.
Tom was not sorry when the walk was over, and he found himself once more
reclining on his sea-weed couch reading Shakespeare, while Ginger Brandy
busied himself not far off making tortoise stew, with a bit of bacon in
it to give it a flavour. The delicious steam went all round Tom’s heart
each time Brandy lifted the lid to peep inside.
Tom and Ginger Brandy spent many days at the seaside, dragging the boat
down sometimes and going for a sail. In this way they cruised round a
considerable portion of the coast. They found no signs of life anywhere,
however, and though they landed at several places they found no
tortoises.[2]
Inland they could see high hills, but all the coast-line was bordered
with black rocks, boulders, and scoriæ. The ugly lizards were
everywhere, and swam in the water as well as crawled on the beach.
As regards fish, Tom found the island coast a mine of luxury. Wherever
the water was fairly shallow they found them in shoals, and could
capture them with their hands--at least Ginger Brandy could; and his
method of fishing was peculiar, to say the least of it. First he
divested himself of his clothes, then overboard he sprang like a frog.
Holding one hand under the water, he dropped a few crumbs of biscuit
from the other. The fish, by no means shy, sailed up at once, and Brandy
seized them one by one slowly but surely, and threw them into the boat.
Tom was a fairly clever naturalist, but he could not name a tenth of the
many strange varieties of fish caught, nor even guess the natural
orders to which they belonged. Most were edible.
Some were too gaudily coloured to be otherwise than suspicious. These
Brandy discarded. Others were horribly grotesque, with immense heads,
diabolical faces and horns. Brandy would have nothing to say to these
either.
He held a frightfully ugly specimen up one day for Tom’s inspection.
“Is he for dinner, Ginger Brandy?”
“Gully, massy; no, sah. Plaps, sah, he one debil. He no aflaid ob de
fire nor de f’ying pan. Suppose I put he ober de fire, sah, his ugly
mouf grow bigger, his horns grow longer, his eyes grow fierce, den he
switch his tail, jump out ob de fire and gobble up bof you and me, and
fly away in de smoke.”
“Brandy,” said Tom one morning after breakfast, “I’m strong enough now
to explore.”
“To ’splore, sah?”
“Yes, Brandy. To explore the island.”
“Well I’se strong ’nuff to ’splore mos’ anyting, sah.”
“All right, we’ll start. There is no fear of anyone breaking into the
house while we’re away, so you needn’t lock the door, Brandy.”
It was a delightful day, with a strong breeze chafing the sea and
roaring through the stunted shrubs and thorny cacti. The sky too was
overcast with clouds; and it being the end of October some showers had
fallen, so that the air was wondrously cool considering that they were
right under the equator.
Tom felt as easy-minded and happy to-day as ever he did in his life.
There was something in the very air of this semi-enchanted isle of the
ocean, that seemed to engender happiness, and hope as well. Tom had not
begun to think yet if there was any chance of his ever getting away from
the island.
“One of these days,” he said to Brandy, “you and I will sit down and do
a jolly big think. But there is no occasion to hurry. Is there, Brandy?”
“O, I’se in no ’ticular hurry, sah! Not in de slightest. I lub dis
little island. ’Spose we lib heah always, I not care.”
For miles and miles they scrambled onwards and upwards, wondering, like
the little girl in the fairy tale, where they would come to at last.
They took a straight course through the thorny jungle; but afterwards
found that though this was the nearest route, it certainly was not the
quickest. Poor Brandy’s feet were cut with cinders and rocks, and both
had their faces and clothes torn with the cruel briers, that were as
sharp and long as penknives.
They found themselves on a hilltop at last, and looking down, to their
great astonishment, into a perfect paradise.
What was it like? It is not easy to describe. Imagine if you can a vast
green and flowery valley, surrounded on all sides by romantic hills
covered half-way to the top with waving woods, their summits round,
fantastic, coned, or serrated; the valley itself containing every
description of beautiful scenery that can be conceived. Yonder are green
parks or fields, with cattle and donkeys quietly browsing in them, and
shrubby knolls and patches of trees in their midst; yonder a beautiful
lake or pond, with cattle wading therein or standing drowsily in its
shallows; yonder a racing streamlet, like a thread of silver, winding
through the plain till lost among the woods.
Down towards this paradise the Crusoes now hurry, new wonders greeting
their sight at every turn. The forest itself is garlanded and festooned
with flowers, trailing, climbing, and hanging, and shedding beauty
everywhere. And when they leave the woods at last and come into the
open, there are more marvels yet in store for them. A herd of wild pigs
start squeaking and grunting away from a thicket of bananas, where they
have been feeding on the fruit. There are groves of oranges, of citrons,
and limes, and further on patches of wild potatoes, yams, and vegetables
innumerable.
And to crown all the other wonders, lo! they come to a house or rather a
hut, and at a little distance off there are others. But no smoke is now
curling up from the compounds around. The fences are decayed and overrun
with creepers; snakes glide here and there through what had once been a
pretty garden, and the door of the principal hut has fallen from its
hinges.
Nay, not fallen; it has been smashed in, and the two skeletons that lie
bleaching not far off--one that of a child--tell the tale of a tragedy
that was enacted in these wilds many years ago far more graphically than
any words could have done.
“I not like de look ob tings at p’esent, sah,” said Brandy.
“Nor I either, my friend. But it is pretty evident that this island has
at one time been a settlement, that there has been a foul deed done, and
that the murderers have fled. Never mind, Brandy, we shall remove from
the desolate triton-haunted sea-shore to this lovely valley, and build
ourselves a hut. As for these poor remains we will bury them. The
wretches who committed the crime doubtless landed from a ship, and the
story of their terrible iniquity may never, never be known.”
The Crusoes returned to the hut by the sea that same evening, Brandy
carrying on his shoulder a tiny young pig, part of which he meant to
cook for supper.
They got up shortly after sunrise next day, and were off to the wild
interior again as soon as breakfast had been discussed. Tom carried his
rifle, Brandy carried a spade.
In a little orange grove they dug a shallow grave, and there laid the
skeletons side by side and covered them up.
“We’ll come some other day, Brandy, and erect a cross here,” said Tom as
they walked away.
He paused several times to look back at the spot he had chosen for a
last resting-place for the remains. It was peculiar, and the more he
thought of it the stranger it appeared. Three trees had been planted at
right angles to the wood that rose over a hill on the east side of the
valley. They were equidistant, and close to the centre one, almost
overshadowed by it indeed, was the grove of orange-trees and bananas in
which they had made the grave. No other trees were anywhere nearer than
the wood itself.
They must have been planted there as a mark to something. But to what?