LODGINGS UNDER GROUND.
When we arrived on the ground selected by Brigham and the others, we
found that they had made but little progress in cutting wood for the
posts, and much remained to be done before we could get up the tent.
Heavy clouds hung over the tops of the mountains; the surf moaned
dismally upon the rocks; big drops of rain began to strike us through
the gusts of wind that swept down over the cliffs, and there was every
prospect of a wet and stormy night. It was now quite dark. After some
talk, we thought it best to abandon our plan of sleeping under the sail.
Finally, we agreed to go in search of a cave under the brow of a
neighboring cliff. We had seen it during the day, and although a very
unpromising place, we thought it would serve to protect us against the
rain. We therefore took our oars and sail upon our shoulders, together
with what few weapons of defense we had, and stumbled about in the dark
for some time, till we had the good fortune to find the mouth of the
cave. In the course of a few minutes we struck a light by a lucky
chance, and then looked in. There seemed to be no bottom to it, and, so
far as we could perceive, neither sides nor top. Certainly there was not
a living soul about the premises to deny us admission; so we crept down,
as we thought, into the bowels of the earth, and, seeing nobody there,
took possession of our lodgings, such as they were.
It was a damp and gloomy place enough, reeking with mould, and smelling
very strong of strange animals. The rocks hung gaping over our heads, as
if ready to fall down upon us at the mere sound of our voices; the
ground was covered with dirty straw, left there probably by some
deserters from a whale-ship, and all around the sides were full of
holes, which we supposed from the smell must be inhabited by foxes,
rats, and perhaps snakes, though we were afterward told there were no
reptiles on the island. We soon found that there were plenty of spiders
and fleas in the straw. The ground being damp, we spread our sail over
it, in order to make a sort of bed; and, being in a measure protected by
a clump of bushes placed in the entrance by the previous occupants to
keep out the wind and rain, we did not altogether despair of passing a
tolerably comfortable night.
For a while there was not much said by any body; we were all busy
looking about us. Some were looking at the rocks overhead; some into the
holes, where they thought there might be wild animals; and myself and a
few others were trying to light a fire in the back part of the cave. It
smoked so that we had to give it up at last, for it well-nigh stifled
the whole party.
By this time, being all tired, we lay down, and had some talk about
Robinson Crusoe.
"If he lived in such holes as this," said one, "I don't think he had
much sleep."
"No," muttered another, "that sort of thing reads a good deal better
than it feels; but there's no telling how a man may get used to it. Eels
get used to being skinned, and I've heard of a horse that lived on five
straws a day."
"For my part," adds a third, "I like it: there's romance about it--and
convenience too, in some respects. For the matter of clothing, a man
could wear goatskins. Tailors never dunned Robinson Crusoe. It goes a
great way toward making a man happy to be independent of fashion. Being
dunned makes a man miserable."
"Yes, it makes him travel a long way sometimes," sighs another,
thoughtfully. "I'd be willing to live here a few years to get rid of
society. What a glorious thing it must be to have nothing to do but hunt
wild goats! Robinson had a jolly time of it; no accounts to make out, no
office-hours to keep, nobody to call him to account every morning for
being ten minutes too late, in consequence of a frolic. Talking about
frolics, he wasn't tempted with liquor, or bad company either; he chose
his own company: he had his parrot, his goats, his man Friday--all
steady sort of fellows, with no nonsense about them. I'll venture to say
they never drank any thing stronger than water."
[Illustration: CRUSOE AND HIS COMRADES.]
"No," adds another, gloomily, "it isn't likely they applied 'hot and
rebellious liquors to their blood.' But a man who lives alone has no
occasion to drink. He has no love affairs on hand to drive him to it."
"Nor a scolding wife. I've known men to go all the way to California to
get rid of a woman's tongue."
There was a pause here, as most of the talkers began to drop off to
sleep.
"Gentlemen," said somebody in the party, who had been listening
attentively to the conversation, "I don't believe a single word of it. I
don't believe there ever was such a man as Robinson Crusoe in the world.
I don't believe there ever was such a man as Friday. In my opinion, the
whole thing is a lie, from beginning to end. I consider Robinson Crusoe
a humbug!"
"Who says it's all a lie?" cried several voices, fiercely; "who calls
Robinson Crusoe a humbug?"
"That is to say," replied the culprit, modifying the remark, "I don't
think the history is altogether true. Such a person might have lived
here, but he added something on when he told his story. He knew very
well his man Friday, or his dogs and parrots were not going to expose
his falsehoods."
"Pooh! you don't believe in any thing; you never did believe in any
thing since you were born. Perhaps you don't believe in that. Are you
quite sure you are here yourself?"
"Well, to be candid, when I look about me and see what a queer sort of a
place it is, I don't feel quite sure; there's room for doubt."
"Doubt, sir! doubt? Do you doubt Friday? Do you think there's room for
doubt in him?"
"Possibly there may have been such a man. I say there _may_ have been; I
wouldn't swear to it."
"Fudge, sir! fudge! The fact is, you make yourself ridiculous. You are
troubled with dyspepsia."
"I am rayther dyspeptic, gentlemen, rayther so. I hope you'll excuse me,
but I can't exactly say I believe in Crusoe. It ain't my fault--the
belief ain't naturally in me."
Upon which, having made this acknowledgment, we let him alone, and he
turned over and went to sleep. We now pricked up our lamp, and prepared
to follow his example, when a question arose as to the propriety of
standing watches during the night--a precaution thought necessary by
some in consequence of the treacherous character of the Spaniards. There
were eleven of us, which would allow one hour to each person. For my
part, I thought there was not much danger, and proposed letting every
man who felt uneasy stand watches for himself. We had labored without
rest for thirty-six hours, and I was willing to trust to Providence for
safety, and make the most of our time for sleeping. A majority being of
the same opinion, the plan of standing watches was abandoned; and having
loaded our two guns, we placed them in a convenient position commanding
the mouth of the cave. I got the harpoon and stood it up near me, for I
had made up my mind to fasten on to the first Spaniard that came within
reach.
ATTACK OF THE ROBBERS.
Scarcely had we closed our eyes and fallen into a restless doze, when a
nervous gentleman in the party rose up on his hands and knees, and
cautiously uttered these words:
"Friends, don't you think we'd better put out the light. The Spaniards
may be armed, and if they come here, the lamp will show them where we
are, and they'll be sure to take aim at our heads."
"Sure enough," whispered two or three at once, "we didn't think of that;
they can't see us in the dark, however, unless they have eyes like cats.
Let us put out the light, by all means."
So with that we were about to put out the light, when the man who had
doubts in regard to Robinson Crusoe rose up on his hands and knees
likewise, and said,
"Hold on! I think you'd better not do that. It ain't policy. I don't
believe in it myself."
"Confound it, sir," cried half a dozen voices, angrily, "you don't
believe in any thing. What's the reason you don't believe in it, eh?
What's the reason, sir?"
"Well, I'll tell you why. Because, if you put out the light, we can't
see where to shoot. Likely as not we'd shoot one another. If I feel
certain of any thing, it is, that I'd be the first man shot; it's my
luck. I know I'd be a dead man before morning."
There was something in this suggestion not to be laughed at. The most
indignant of us felt the full force of it. To shoot our enemies in
self-defense seemed reasonable enough, but to shoot any of our own
party, even the man who doubted Robinson Crusoe, would be a very serious
calamity. At last, after a good deal of talk, we compromised the matter
by putting the lamp under an old hat with a hole in the top. This done,
we tried to go to sleep.
Brigham went to the mouth of the cave about midnight to take an
observation. He was armed with one of the guns.
"What's that?" said he, sharply; "I hear something! Gentlemen, I hear
something! Hallo! who goes there?"
There was no answer. Nothing could be heard but the moaning of the surf
down on the beach.
"A Spaniard! by heavens, a Spaniard! I'll shoot him--I'll shoot him
through the head!"
"Don't fire, Brigham," said I, for I wanted a chance to fasten on with
the harpoon; "wait till he comes up, and ask him what he wants."
"Ahoy there! What do you want? Answer quick, or I'll shoot you! Speak,
or you're a dead man!"
All hands were now in commotion. We rushed to the mouth of the cave in a
body, determined to defend ourselves to the last extremity.
"Gentlemen," cried Brigham, a little confused, "it's a goat! I see him
now, in the rays of the moon; a live goat, coming down the cliff. Shall
I kill him for breakfast?"
"Wait," said I, "till he comes a little closer; I'll bend on to him with
the harpoon."
"You'd better let him alone," said the Doubter, in a sepulchral voice.
"Likely as not it's a tame goat or a chicken belonging to the American
down there."
"A tame devil, sir! How do you suppose they could keep tame goats in
such a place as this. Your remark concerning the chicken is beneath
contempt!"
"Well, I don't know why. Tain't my nature to take an entire goat without
proof. I thought it might be a chicken."
"Then you'd better go and satisfy yourself, if you're not afraid."
The Doubter did so. He walked a few steps toward the object, so as to
get sight of its outline, and then returned, saying,
"That thing there isn't a goat at all--neyther is it a chicken."
"What is it, then?"
"Nothing but a bush."
"What makes it move?"
"The wind, I suppose. I don't know what else could make it move, for it
ain't got the first principle of animal life in it. Bushes don't walk
about of nights any more than they do in the daytime. I never did
believe in it from the beginning, and I told you so, but you wouldn't
listen to me."
We said nothing in reply to this, but returned into the cave and lay
down again upon the sail.