THE STORY OF A LONG TRAMP
They had hung their jackets by the fire to dry, and by the time
breakfast was finished――a breakfast that Larry declared was breakfast,
dinner, supper, and lunch all rolled into one――the garments were ready
to put on again. Their improvised hats were gone, but seaweed was
plentiful along the beach, and soon they had fixed up a pair of rude
head coverings which gave them ample protection from the tropical sun,
even if they were far from handsome in appearance.
“We ain’t travellin’ on looks, lad,” said Striker, when Larry poked fun
at the bonnets, as he dubbed them. “I’d rather wear this contrivance
than be sunstruck.”
“Of course, Luke――I was only fooling. The question is, now we are ready
to move, where are we to go to?”
“I’ve thought that over, lad, and I don’t know as we can do better nor
to climb up to the highest top of this place and git our bearings, so
to speak, same as we did at that other island we were on.”
“And supposing we strike another snake?” and Larry could scarcely
repress a shiver.
“We’ll have to chance it. But I don’t believe we will. Come, we’ll cut
ourselves a couple of good clubs, and then mount the cliff and the hill
back of it. What I am worried about more than snakes is our chance of
picking up the next meal. Fish ain’t layin’ around all over, ye see.”
“Let us run along shore then and pick up what we can,” answered Larry,
“or I can do so while you are cutting the clubs;” and so it was
arranged.
The beach was strewn with seaweed and shells, but, as Striker had
intimated, fish were scarce, and Larry picked up but one small creature
of an unknown variety, and not weighing over a pound and a half. It was
full of spines which stuck his fingers until they bled, and he carried
the fish back very gingerly.
“Humph, not much, but better nor nuthin’,” was Striker’s comment. “I’ll
wrap it in wet seaweed and sling it over my back. Here is your club,
lad, and use it as best you can, if anything attacks you, be it snake,
wild animal, or a blood-thirsty savage.”
“Do you think this island inhabited?”
“That depends a good deal on the size. If it’s large, yes; if it’s
small, no.”
“Is it one of the Philippines?”
“I reckon it is; some small place directly to the north of Luzon. But
come on; we want to make the most of the forenoon, because by eleven
o’clock it will be too hot to travel.”
In a moment more they were on the way, climbing the cliff and pushing
up a gradual slope covered with rank tropical growth, steaming from the
rain which had fallen upon it. For the greater part, the growth was of
coarse grass, knee-high and more, but here and there were thick clumps
of bushes, gorgeous with colored flowers and odd-looking berries, not a
few of a poisonous nature. Still farther on was a heavy belt of stunted
palms, with vines training in every direction, and here flitted, in
surprise and terror at their appearance, wild pigeons, hornbills, as
well as parrakeets, cockatoos, and other varieties of parrots.
“My, but it’s hot!” murmured Larry, as they came to a rest under the
palms. “And how everything does grow in these hot places!”
“Yes, it grows, but a good bit of it is mighty coarse,” responded
Striker. “Take that grass we’ve just come through, for instance. I
don’t believe a horse or a cow would touch it any more than it would a
lot of old chair canings.”
“And just look at the bugs, and beetles, and ants, and lizards!” went
on the boy, pointing to the ground and the rocks about them. “I don’t
believe a fellow could pass a night here very comfortably.”
“Not unless he slept in a tree, Larry――although I allow as it wouldn’t
be no wuss nor some sailors’ boarding-houses I have put up at,” and
Striker laughed heartily. “Come.” And on they went again.
Before the top of the hill was gained they had to pass over a rocky
stretch of lava formation. Here Striker pointed out the different
strata of the flow.
“This island is of volcanic origin, as the parson would put it,” he
said, “but I reckon the last eruption was a long while ago, judgin’ by
the trees. Perhaps we’ll run across the volcano crater somewhere up
there at the top.”
The top of the hill was not as regular as that upon the other island
visited, and in order to get a view of their surroundings they were
compelled to climb a palm tree. From here they could get a fair
view of the ocean, and saw that the island was about three miles in
diameter. The crater of the volcano lay just in front of them,――a
ragged depression, its centre depths covered with thickly matted vines.
“Looks like a big, round cake that went away up in the baking and then
split just one side of the middle,” remarked Larry. “Do you suppose
there is any bottom to that crater?”
“To be sure, though there’s no telling how far down it is. I ain’t
calkerlatin’ to investigate――not jest yet. Do you see anything of a hut
or a village?”
“Not a sign of any habitation.”
“Neither do I.” The face of the sailor fell. “We might as well go round
the crater and down behind it, and then, if we want to, we can walk
along the shore.”
The walk down the hill was easy, and they continued their progress even
during the midday hour, although stopping numerous times to rest. They
had almost gained the water’s edge again when Striker pulled Larry by
the arm to attract his attention.
“We’ll want something to eat soon, and I’m goin’ to have something
besides fish if I can get it. Yonder is a flock of wild pigeons. We
might take a shy at them with our clubs. Come on, as quietly as you
can, and when I whistle let drive.”
They crept forward side by side, to the spot the Yankee tar had pointed
out. When within fifty feet of the birds Striker uttered a low whistle,
at the same time letting his club whiz through the air. Both sticks
flew true to the mark, and a tremendous fluttering followed. One of the
pigeons was knocked dead and three others injured. Of the three, two
were readily caught; the third got away among the trees.
“Three birds; not half so bad,” cried Striker. The prizes were slung on
a string over Larry’s back, and on they went again.
Evening found the pair down at the seashore. They had skirted one half
of the island without seeing the first sign of a human being. They
were utterly worn out, and were only too glad to take it easy, kindle
a fire, and cook the fish and the pigeons. The latter proved of rather
a rank flavor, judged by the flesh of those eaten at home, yet neither
complained.
“I’ll have to be careful of my matches,” observed Striker, as they
proceeded to make themselves comfortable for the night. “The six I
have left won’t last forever. Let us see if we can’t keep the fire;”
and he banked it up with some thick brushwood in such a fashion that it
might burn slowly.
The night was spent under the shelter of several dwarf palms which
grew close to a rocky elevation overlooking the sea. All went well
until nearly dawn, when Larry was suddenly awakened by the movement of
something around him.
“Hullo, Luke, what’s up?” he cried, when he caught sight of something
between himself and the Yankee sailor. He made a savage kick, hitting
some small animal in the side, and a shrill squeak followed. Striker
was by this time awake, and both leaped to their feet.
“A monkey, that’s all!” cried the tar. “Get out of here!” and he made
a useless pass with his foot, for the monkey was already hopping off
as fast as he was able. In the dim light they made out a score of the
animals sitting around them in a circle. With a wild chatter the whole
tribe rushed into the trees of the forest behind them and were lost to
view, although their chatterings could be heard for a long while after.
“They’ll come back sooner or later; their curiosity won’t let them
keep away,” said Striker, after the excitement was over. “Reckon he
scared you a bit, didn’t he?”
“He did,” answered Larry. “I wonder if there are any very dangerous
animals round?” he continued anxiously.
“It’s not likely, on an island of this size. But you’ll find plenty of
wildcats in the Philippines, and wild boars and buffalo――a different
sort from those in our Western States. And then there are civets, an
animal something like a cat, that some of the natives domesticate, and
the wild parts are full of jackals, so I’ve heard, though I never seen
none of ’em.”
What to do was the next question. They had explored the island as
thoroughly as they cared to do it, with but scant satisfaction. Not a
single trace of human beings had come to light. They looked at each
other soberly.
“We are Crusoes, Luke,” said Larry, soberly, “and I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I like it, lad. But what can we do? If we had tools, I
might go in for rigging up a boat, or a raft, and setting some sort of
sail for Luzon, but one can’t do much with a jack-knife.”
Larry heaved a long sigh. “If only we could climb the tallest tree on
the island and hang up a flag of distress,” he ventured. “I’d hang up
the very shirt I’m wearing if I thought it would do any good.”
“So would I, lad, but it’s only one chance in a thousand that any one
would come along to see it. Let us look at it in a business light, as
shore folks call it. Here we are and likely to stay for a good bit.
Let us fix us up a shelter and fill our larder, if we can, and talk of
what’s best to do afterwards.”
So it was arranged, and the next morning they set to work to build a
hut in the best spot to be found. Of course they could cut down no
trees, so they built the hut among a clump of five palms, making the
sides and top of brushwood, bound together with strong vines which grew
in profusion close at hand.
The finishing up of this place was entrusted to Larry, while Striker
went off a whole day to “fill up the larder,” as he had expressed it.
The Yankee tar was very successful, having brought down several birds
with his club and caught a dozen fish with a line made of a string he
was fortunate enough to find in his pocket. For a hook for this line
he had used a sharp thorn tied, end up, to a tough twig, baiting the
whole with a dazzling blue and yellow butterfly, butterflies being as
numerous as were the ants and fireflies in the woods. In addition to
this he had turned over one immense turtle he had found in the sun, not
a tortoise-shell this time, but a more common looking creature which
was, however, of good eating flavor.
“The turtle I’ll put in a mud-hole somewhere,” he said. “And as long as
we have him there will be no danger of our starving. I’d put some of
the fish into another hole, only they are all dead. However, I’m sure
we can get fish at any time.”