LIFE ON THE SANDBANK--AILIE TAKES POSSESSION OF FAIRYLAND--GLYNN AND
BUMBLE ASTONISH THE LITTLE FISHES.
In order that the reader may form a just conception of the sandbank on
which the crew of the _Red Eric_ had been wrecked, we shall describe it
somewhat carefully.
It lay in the Southern Ocean, a little to the west of the longitude of
the Cape of Good Hope, and somewhere between 2000 and 3000 miles to the
south of it. As has been already remarked, the bank at its highest
point was little more than a few feet above the level of the ocean, the
waves of which in stormy weather almost, and the spray of which
altogether, swept over it. In length it was barely fifty yards, and in
breadth about forty. Being part of a coral reef, the surface of it was
composed of the beautiful white sand that is formed from coral by the
dashing waves. At one end of the bank--that on which the ship had
struck--the reef rose into a ridge of rock, which stood a few feet
higher than the level of the sand, and stretched out into the sea about
twenty yards, with its points projecting here and there above water. On
the centre of the bank at its highest point one or two very small blades
of green substance were afterwards discovered. So few were they,
however, and so delicate, that we feel justified in describing the spot
as being utterly destitute of verdure. Ailie counted those green blades
many a time after they were discovered. There were exactly thirty-five
of them; twenty-six were, comparatively speaking, large; seven were of
medium size, and two were extremely small--so small and thin that Ailie
wondered they did not die of sheer delicacy of constitution on such a
barren spot. The greater part of the surface of the bank was covered
with the fine sand already referred to, but there were one or two spots
which were covered with variously-sized pebbles, and an immense number
of beautiful small shells.
On such a small and barren spot one would think there was little or
nothing to admire. But this was not the case. Those persons whose
thoughts are seldom allowed to fix attentively on any subject, are apt
to fall into the mistake of supposing that in this world there are a
great many absolutely uninteresting things. Many things are, indeed,
uninteresting to individuals, but there does not exist a single thing
which has not a certain amount of interest to one or another cast of
mind, and which will not afford food for contemplation, and matter
fitted to call forth our admiration for its great and good Creator.
We know a valley so beautiful that it has been for generations past, and
will probably be for generations to come, the annual resort of hundreds
of admiring travellers. The valley cannot be seen until you are almost
in it. The country immediately around it is no way remarkable; it is
even tame. Many people would exclaim at first sight in reference to it,
"How uninteresting."
It requires a close view, a minute inspection, to discover the beauties
that lie hidden there.
So was it with our sandbank. Ailie's first thoughts were, "Oh! how
dreary; how desolate!" and in some respects she was right; but she dwelt
there long enough to discover things that charmed her eye and her
imagination, and caused her sometimes to feel as if she had been
transported to the realms of Fairyland.
We do not say, observe, that the crew of the _Red Eric_ were ever
blessed with such dreams. Jim Scroggles, for instance, had no eye for
the minute beauties or wonders of creation. Jim, according to his own
assertion, could see about as far through a millstone as most men. He
could apostrophise his eye, on certain occasions, and tell it--as though
its own power of vision were an insufficient medium of information--that
"that _wos_ a stunnin' iceberg;" or that "that _wos_ a gale and a half,
fit to tear the masts out o' the ship a'most." But for any less
majestic object in nature, Jim Scroggles had nothing to say either to
his eye, or his nose, or his shipmates.
As was Jim Scroggles, so were most of the other men. Hence they
grumbled a good deal at their luckless condition. But upon the whole
they were pretty cheerful--especially at meal-times--and, considering
their circumstances, they behaved very well.
Glynn Proctor was a notable exception to the prevailing rule of
indifference to small things. By nature he was of a superior stamp of
mind to his comrades; besides, he had been better educated; and more
than all, he was at that time under the influence of Ailie Dunning. She
admired what she admired; he liked what she liked; he looked with
interest at the things which she examined. Had Ailie sat down beside
the stock of an old anchor and looked attentively at it, Glynn would
have sat down and stared at it too, in the firm belief that there was
something there worth looking at! Glynn laughed aloud sometimes at
himself, to think how deeply interested he had become in the child, for
up to that time he had rather avoided than courted the society of
children; and he used to say to Ailie that the sailors would begin to
call her his little sweetheart, if he spent so much of his time with
her; to which Ailie would reply by asking what a sweetheart was; whereat
Glynn would laugh immoderately; whereupon Ailie would tell him not to be
stupid, but to come and play with her!
All the sailors, even including the taciturn Tarquin, had a tender
feeling of regard for the little girl who shared their fortunes at that
time, but with the exception of Glynn, none were capable of sympathising
with her in her pursuits. Tim Rokens, her father, and Dr Hopley did to
some extent, but these three had their minds too deeply filled with
anxiety about their critical position to pay her much attention, beyond
the kindest concern for her physical wants. King Bumble, too, we beg
his pardon, showed considerable interest in her. The sable assistant of
Nikel Sling shone conspicuous at this trying time, for his activity,
good-humour, and endurance, and in connection with Phil Briant, Gurney,
and Jacko, kept up the spirits of the shipwrecked men wonderfully.
Close under the rocks, on the side farthest removed from the spot where
the rude tent was pitched, there was a little bay or creek, not more
than twenty yards in diameter, which Ailie appropriated and called
Fairyland! It was an uncommonly small spot, but it was exceedingly
beautiful and interesting. The rocks, although small, were so broken
and fantastically formed, that when Ailie crept close in amongst them,
and so placed herself that the view of the sandbank was entirely shut
out, and nothing was to be seen but little pools of crystal water and
rocklets, with their margin of dazzling white sand, and the wreck of the
ship in the distance, with the deep blue sea beyond, she quite forgot
where she actually was, and began to wander in the most enchanting
daydreams. But when, as often happened, there came towering thick
masses of snowy clouds, like mountain peaks and battlements in the
bright blue sky, her delight was so great that she could find no words
to express it.
At such times--sometimes with Glynn by her side, sometimes alone--she
would sit in a sunny nook, or in a shady nook if she felt too warm, and
invite innumerable hosts of fairies to come and conduct her through
interminable tracts of pure-white cloud region, and order such
unheard-of wild creatures (each usually wanting a tail, or a leg, or an
ear) to come out of the dark caves, that had they been all collected in
one garden for exhibition to the public, that zoological garden would
have been deemed, out of sight, the greatest of all the wonders of the
world!
When a little wearied with those aerial journeys she would return to
"Fairyland," and, leaning over the brinks of the pools, peer down into
their beautiful depths for hours at a time.
Ailie's property of Fairyland had gardens, too, of the richest possible
kind, full of flowers of the most lovely and brilliant hues. But the
flowers were scentless, and, alas! she could not pluck them, for those
gardens were all under water; they grew at the bottom of the sea!
Yes, reader, if the land was barren on that ocean islet, the pools there
made up for it by presenting to view the most luxuriant marine
vegetation. There were forests of branching coral of varied hues; there
were masses of fan-shaped sponges; there were groves of green and red
sea-weeds; and beds of red, and white, and orange, and striped creatures
that stuck to the rocks, besides little fish with bright coloured backs
that played there as if they really enjoyed living always under water--
which is not easy for us, you know, to realise! And above all, the
medium of water between Ailie and these things was so pure and pellucid
when no breeze fanned the surface, that it was difficult to believe,
unless you touched it, there was any water there at all.
While Ailie thus spent her time, or at least her leisure time, for she
was by no means an idler in that busy little isle, the men were actively
engaged each day in transporting provisions from the _Red Eric_ to the
sandbank, and in making them as secure as circumstances would admit of.
For this purpose a raft had been constructed, and several trips a day
were made to and from the wreck, so that in the course of a few days a
considerable stock of provisions was accumulated on the bank. This was
covered with tarpaulin, and heavy casks of salt junk were placed on the
corners and edges to keep it down.
"I'll tell ye wot it is, messmates," remarked Gurney, one day, as they
sat down round their wood fire to dine in front of their tent, "we're
purvisioned for six months at least, an' if the weather only keeps fine
I've no objection to remain wotiver."
"Maybe," said Briant, "ye'll have to remain that time whether ye object
or not."
"By no means, Paddy," retorted Gurney; "I could swum off to sea and be
drownded if I liked."
"No ye couldn't, avic," said Briant.
"Why not?" demanded Gurney.
"'Cause ye haven't the pluck," replied Phil.
"I'll pluck the nose off yer face," said Gurney, in affected anger.
"No ye won't," cried Phil, "'cause av ye do I'll spile the soup by
heavin' it all over ye."
"Oh!" exclaimed Gurney, with a look of horror, "listen to him,
messmates, he calls it `_soup_'--the nasty kettle o' dirty water! Well,
well, it's lucky we hain't got nothin' better to compare it with."
"But, I say, lads," interposed Jim Scroggles, seriously, "wot'll we do
if it comes on to blow a gale and blows away all our purvisions?"
"Ay, boys," cried Dick Barnes, "that 'ere's the question, as Hamlet
remarked to his grandfather's ghost; wot is to come on us supposin' it
comes on to blow sich a snorin' gale as'll blow the whole sandbank away,
carryin' us and our prog overboard along with it?"
"Wot's that there soup made of?" demanded Tim Rokens.
"Salt junk and peas," replied Nikel Sling.
"Ah! I thought there was somethin' else in it," said Tim, carelessly,
"for it seems to perdooce oncommon bad jokes in them wot eats of it."
"Now, Tim, don't you go for to be sorcostic, but tell us a story."
"Me tell a story? No, no, lads; there's Glynn Proctor, he's the boy for
you. Where is he?"
"He's aboard the wreck just now. The cap'n sent him for charts and
quadrants, and suchlike cooriosities. Come, Gurney, tell you one if Tim
won't. How wos it, now, that you so mistook yer trade as to come for to
go to sea?"
"I can't very well tell ye," answered Gurney, who, having finished
dinner, had lit his pipe, and was now extended at full length on the
sand, leaning on one arm. "Ye see, lads, I've had more or less to do
with the sea, I have, since ever I comed into this remarkable world--not
that I ever, to my knowledge, knew one less coorous, for I never was up
in the stars; no more, I s'pose, was ever any o' you. I was born at
sea, d'ye see? I don't 'xactly know how I comed for to be born there,
but I wos told that I wos, and if them as told me spoke truth, I s'pose
I wos. I was washed overboard in gales three times before I comed for
to know myself at all. When I first came alive, so to speak, to my own
certain knowledge, I wos a-sitting on the top of a hen-coop aboard an
East Indiaman, roarin' like a mad bull as had lost his senses; 'cause
why? the hens wos puttin' their heads through the bars o' the coops, and
pickin' at the calves o' my legs as fierce as if they'd suddenly turned
cannibals, and rather liked it. From that time I began a life o'
misery. My life before that had bin pretty much the same, it seems, but
I didn't know it, so it didn't matter. D'ye know, lads, when ye don't
know a thing it's all the same as if it didn't exist, an' so, in coorse,
it don't matter."
"Oh!" exclaimed the first mate, who came up at the moment, "'ave hany o'
you fellows got a note-book in which we may record that horacular and
truly valuable hobserwation?"
No one happening to possess a note-book, Gurney was allowed to proceed
with his account of himself.
"Ships has bin my houses all along up to this here date. I don't
believe, lads as ever I wos above two months ashore at a time all the
coorse of my life, an' mostly not as long as that. The smell o' tar and
the taste o' salt water wos the fust things I iver comed across--'xcept
the Line, I comed across that jist about the time I wos born, so I'm
told--and the smell o' tar and taste o' salt water's wot I've bin used
to most o' my life, and moreover, wot I likes best. One old gentleman
as took a fancy to me w'en I wos a boy, said to me, one fine day, w'en I
chanced to be ashore visitin' my mother--says he, `My boy, would ye like
to go with me and live in the country, and be a gardner?' `Wot,' says
I, `keep a garding, and plant taters, and hoe flowers an' cabidges?'
`Yes,' says he, `at least, somethin' o' that sort.' `No, thankee,' says
I; `I b'long to the sea, I do; I wouldn't leave that 'ere no more nor I
would quit my first love if I had one. I'm a sailor, I am, out and out,
through and through--true blue, and no mistake, an' no one need go for
to try to cause me for to forsake my purfession, and live on shore like
a turnip'--that's wot I says to that old gen'lemen. Yes, lads, I've
roamed the wide ocean, as the song says, far an' near. I've bin
tattooed by the New Zealanders, and I've danced with the Hottentots, and
ate puppy dogs with the Chinese, and fished whales in the North Seas,
and run among the ice near the South Pole, and fowt with pirates, and
done service on boord of men-o'-war and merchantmen, and junks, and
bumboats; but I never," concluded Gurney, looking round with a sigh, "I
never came for to be located on a sandbank in the middle of the ocean."
"No more did any on us," added Rokens, "Moreover, if we're not picked up
soon by a ship o' some sort, we're not likely to be located here long,
for we can't live on salt junk for ever; we shall all die o' the
scurvy."
There was just enough of possible and probable truth in the last remark
to induce a feeling of sadness among the men for a few minutes, but this
was quickly put to flight by the extraordinary movements of Phil Briant.
That worthy had left the group round the fire, and had wandered out to
the extreme end of the rocky point, where he sat down to indulge,
possibly in sad, or mayhap hopeful reflections. He was observed to
start suddenly up, and gaze into the sea eagerly for a few seconds; then
he cut a caper, slapped his thigh, and ran hastily towards the tent.
"What now? where away, Phil?" cried one of the men.
Briant answered not, but speedily reappeared at the opening of the tent
door with a fishing-line and hook. Hastening to the point of rock, he
opened a small species of shell-fish that he found there, wherewith he
baited his hook, and then cast it into the sea. In a few minutes he
felt a twitch, which caused him to return a remarkably vigorous twitch,
as it were in reply.
The fish and the sailor for some minutes acted somewhat the part of
electricians in a telegraph office; when the fish twitched, Briant
twitched; when the fish pulled and paused, Briant pulled and paused, and
when the fish held on hard, Briant pulled hard, and finally pulled him
ashore, and a very nice plump rock-codling he was. There were plenty of
them, so in a short time there was no lack of fresh fish, and Rokens'
fear that they would have to live on salt junk was not realised.
Fishing for rock-codlings now became one of the chief recreations of the
men while not engaged in bringing various necessaries from the wreck.
But for many days at first they found their hands fully occupied in
making their new abode habitable, in enlarging and improving the tent,
which soon by degrees came to merit the name of a hut, and in inventing
various ingenious contrivances for the improvement of their condition.
It was not until a couple of weeks had passed that time began to hang
heavy on their hands and fishing became a general amusement.
They all fished, except Jacko. Even Ailie tried it once or twice, but
she did not like it and soon gave it up. As for Jacko, he contented
himself with fishing with his hands, in a sly way, among the provision
casks, at which occupation he was quite an adept; and many a nice
tit-bit did he fish up and secrete in his private apartment for future
use. Like many a human thief, Jacko was at last compelled to leave the
greater part of his ill-gotten and hoarded gains behind him.
One day Glynn and Ailie sat by the margin of a deep pool in Fairyland,
gazing down into its clear depths. The sun's rays penetrated to the
very bottom, revealing a thousand beauties in form and colour that
called forth from Ailie the most extravagant expressions of admiration.
She wound up one of those eloquent bursts by saying--
"Oh, Glynn, how very, _very_ much I do wish I could go down there and
play with the dear, exquisite, darling little fishes!"
"You'd surprise them, I suspect," said Glynn. "It's rather too deep a
pool to play in unless you were a mermaid."
"How deep is it, Glynn?"
"'Bout ten feet, I think."
"So much? It does not look like it. What a very pretty bit of coral I
see over there, close to the white rock; do you see it? It is bright
pink. Oh, I would like _so_ much to have it."
"Would you?" cried Glynn, jumping up and throwing off his jacket; "then
here goes for it."
So saying he clasped his hands above his head, and bending forward,
plunged into the pool and went straight at the piece of pink coral,
head-foremost, like an arrow!
Glynn was lightly clad. His costume consisted simply of a pair of white
canvas trousers and a blue striped shirt, with a silk kerchief round his
neck, so that his movements in the water were little, if at all, impeded
by his clothes. At the instant he plunged into the water King Bumble
happened to approach, and while Ailie stood, petrified with fear as she
saw Glynn struggling violently at the bottom of the pool, her sable
companion stood looking down with a grin from ear to ear that displayed
every one of his white teeth.
"Don't be 'fraid, Missie Ally," said the negro; "him's know wot him's
doin', ho yis!"
Before Ailie could reply, Glynn was on the surface spluttering and
brushing the hair from his forehead with one hand, while with the other
he hugged to his breast the piece of pink coral.
"Here--it--ha!--is. My breath--oh--is a'most gone--Ailie--catch hold!"
cried he, as he held out the coveted piece of rock to the child, and
scrambled out of the pool.
"Oh, thank you, Glynn; but why did you go down so quick and stay so
long? I got _such_ a fright."
"You bin pay your 'spects to de fishes," said Bumble, with a grin.
"Yes, I have, Bumble, and they say that if you stare at them any longer
with your great goggle eyes they'll all go mad with horror and die right
off. Have you caught any codlings, Bumble?"
"Yis, me hab, an' me hab come for to make a preeposol to Missie Ally."
"A what, Bumble?"
"A preeposol--a digestion."
"I suppose you mean a suggestion, eh?"
"Yis, dat the berry ting."
"Well, out with it."
"Dis am it. Me ketch rock-coddles; well, me put 'em in bucket ob water
an' bring 'em to you, Missie Ally, an' you put 'em into dat pool and
tame 'em, an' hab great fun with 'em. Eeh! wot you tink?"
"Oh, it will be _so_ nice. How good of you to think about it, Bumble;
do get them as quick as you can."
Bumble looked grave and hesitated.
"Why, what's wrong?" inquired Glynn.
"Oh, noting. Me only tink me not take the trouble to put 'em into dat
pool where de fishes speak so imperently ob me. Stop, me will go an'
ask if dey sorry for wot dey hab say."
So saying the negro uttered a shout, sprang straight up into the air,
doubled his head down and his heels up, and cleft the water like a
knife. Glynn uttered a cry something between a yell and a laugh, and
sprang after him, falling flat on the water and dashing the whole pool
into foam, and there the two wallowed about like two porpoises, to the
unbounded delight of Ailie, who stood on the brink laughing until the
tears ran down her cheeks, and to the unutterable horror, no doubt, of
the little fish.
The rock-codlings were soon caught and transferred to the pool, in
which, after that, neither Glynn nor Bumble were suffered to dive or
swim, and Ailie succeeded, by means of regularly feeding them, in making
the little fish less afraid of her than they were at first.
But while Ailie and Glynn were thus amusing themselves and trying to
make the time pass as pleasantly as possible, Captain Dunning was
oppressed with the most anxious forebodings. They had now been several
weeks on the sandbank. The weather had, during that time, been steadily
fine and calm, and their provisions were still abundant, but he knew
that this could not last. Moreover, he found on consulting his charts
that he was far out of the usual course of ships, and that deliverance
could only be expected in the shape of a chance vessel.
Oppressed with these thoughts, which, however, he carefully concealed
from every one except Tim Rokens and the doctor, the captain used to go
on the point of rocks every day and sit there for hours, gazing out
wistfully over the sea.