Not long does Captain Gancy lament the loss of his fine vessel and
valuable cargo. In the face and fear of a far greater loss--his own
life and the lives of his companions there is no time for vain regrets.
The storm is still in full fury; the winds and the waves are as high as
ever, and their boat is threatened with the fate of the barque.
The bulk of the _Calypso's_ crew, with Lyons, the chief mate, have taken
to the pinnace; and the skipper is in his own gig, with his wife,
daughter, son, young Chester, and two others--Seagriff, the carpenter,
and the cook, a negro. In all only seven persons, but enough to bring
the gunwale of the little craft dangerously near the water's edge. The
captain himself is in the stern-sheets, tiller-lines in hand. Mrs
Gancy and her daughter crouch beside him, while the others are at the
oars, in which occupation Ned and Chester occasionally pause to bale
out, as showers of spray keep breaking over the boat, threatening to
swamp it.
What point shall they steer for? This is a question that no one asks,
nor thinks of asking as yet. Course and direction are as nothing now;
all their energies are bent on keeping the boat above water. However,
they naturally endeavour to remain in the company of the pinnace. But
those in the larger craft, like themselves, are engaged in a
life-and-death conflict with the sea, and both must fight it out in
their own way, neither being able to give aid to the other. So, despite
their efforts to keep near each other, the winds and waves soon separate
them, and they only can catch glimpses of each other when buoyed up on
the crest of a billow. When the night comes on--a night of dungeon
darkness--they see each other no more.
But, dark as it is, there is still visible that which they have been
long regarding with dread--the breakers known as the "Milky Way."
Snow-white during the day, these terrible rock-tortured billows now
gleam like a belt of liquid fire, the breakers at every crest seeming to
break into veritable flames. Well for the castaways that this is the
case; else how, in such obscurity, could the dangerous lee-shore be
shunned? To keep off that is, for the time, the chief care of those in
the gig; and all their energies are exerted in holding their craft well
to windward.
By good fortune the approach of night has brought about a shifting of
the wind, which has veered around to the west-north-west, making it
possible for them to "scud," without nearer approach to the dreaded
fire-like line. In their cockleshell of a boat, they know that to run
before the wind is their safest plan, and so they speed on
south-eastward. An ocean current setting from the north-west also helps
them in this course.
Thus doubly driven, they make rapid progress, and before midnight the
Milky Way is behind them and out of sight. But, though they breathe
more freely, they are by no means out of danger--alone in a frail skiff
on the still turbulent ocean, and groping in thick darkness, with
neither moon nor star to guide them. They have no compass, that having
been forgotten in their scramble out of the sinking ship. But even if
they had one it would be of little assistance to them at present, as,
for the time being, they have enough to do in keeping the boat baled out
and above water.
At break of day matters look a little better. The storm has somewhat
abated, and there is land in sight to leeward, with no visible breakers
between. Still, they have a heavy swell to contend with, and an ugly
cross sea.
But land to a castaway! His first thought and most anxious desire is to
set foot on it. So in the case of our shipwrecked party: risking all
reefs and surfs, they at once set the gig's head shoreward.
Closing in upon the land, they perceive a high promontory on the port
bow, and another on the starboard, separated by a wide reach of open
water; and about half-way between these promontories and somewhat
farther out lies what appears to be an island. Taking it for one,
Seagriff counsels putting in there instead of running on for the more
distant mainland, though that is not his real reason.
"But why should we put in upon the island?" asks the skipper. "Wouldn't
it be much better to keep on to the main?"
"No, Captain; there's a reason agin it, the which I'll make known to you
as soon as we get safe ashore."
Captain Gancy is aware that the late _Calypso's_ carpenter was for a
long time a sealer, and in this capacity had spent more than one season
in the sounds and channels of Tierra del Fuego. He knows also that the
old sailor can be trusted, and so, without pressing for further
explanation, he steers straight for the island.
When about half a mile from its shore, they come upon a bed of kelp
[Note 1], growing so close and thick as to bar their farther advance.
Were they still on board the barque, the weed would be given a wide
berth, as giving warning of rocks underneath; but in the light-draught
gig they have no fear of these, and with the swell still tossing them
about, they might be even glad to get in among the kelp--certainly there
would be but that between it and the shore. They can descry waveless
water, seemingly as tranquil as a pond.
Luckily the weed-bed is not continuous, but traversed by an irregular
sort of break, through which it seems practicable to make way. Into
this the gig is directed, and pulled through with vigorous strokes.
Five minutes afterward her keel grates upon a beach, against which,
despite the tumbling swell outside, there is scarce so much as a ripple.
There is no better breakwater than a bed of kelp.
The island proves to be a small one--less than a mile in diameter--
rising in the centre to a rounded summit, three hundred feet above
sea-level.
It is treeless, though in part overgrown with a rank vegetation, chiefly
tussac-grass [Note 2], with its grand bunches of leaves, six feet in
height, surrounded by plume-like flower-spikes, almost as much higher.
Little regard, however, do the castaways pay to the isle or its
productions. After being so long tossed about on rough seas, in
momentary peril of their lives, and eating scarcely a mouthful of food
the while, they are now suffering from the pangs of hunger. On the
water this was the last thing to be thought of; on land it is the first;
so as soon as the boat is brought to her moorings, and they have set
foot on shore, the services of Caesar the cook are called into
requisition.
As yet they scarcely know what provisions they have with them, so
confusedly were things flung into the gig. An examination of their
stock proves that it is scant indeed: a barrel of biscuits, a ham, some
corned beef, a small bag of coffee in the berry, a canister of tea, and
a loaf of lump sugar, were all they had brought with them. The
condition of these articles, too, is most disheartening. Much of the
biscuit seems a mass of briny pulp; the beef is pickled for the second
time (on this occasion with sea-water); the sugar is more than half
melted; and the tea spoiled outright, from the canister not having been
water-tight. The ham and coffee have received least damage; yet both
will require a cleansing operation to make them fit for food.
Fortunately, some culinary utensils are found in the boat the most
useful of them being a frying-pan, kettle, and coffeepot. And now for a
fire!--ah, the fire!
Up to this moment no one has thought of a fire; but now needing it, they
are met with the difficulty, if not impossibility, of making one. The
_mere_ work of kindling it were an easy enough task, the late occupant
of the _Calypso's_ caboose being provided with flint, steel, and tinder.
So, too, is Seagriff, who, an inveterate smoker, is never without
igniting apparatus, carried in a pocket of his pilot-coat. But where
are they to find firewood? There is none on the islet--not a stick, as
no trees grow there; while the tussac and other plants are soaking wet,
the very ground being a sodden spongy peat.
A damper as well as a disappointment this, and Captain Gancy turns to
Seagriff and remarks, with some vexation, "Chips, [All ship-carpenters
are called `Chips.'] I think 't would have been better if we'd kept on
to the main. There's timber enough there, on either side," he adds,
after a look through his binocular. "The hills appear to be
thickly-wooded half-way up on the land both north and south of us."
His words are manifestly intended as a reflection upon the judgment of
the quondam seal-hunter, who rejoins shortly, "It would have been a deal
worse, sir. Ay, worse nor if we should have to eat our vittels raw."
"I don't comprehend you," said the skipper: "you spoke of a reason for
our not making the mainland. What is it?"
"Wal, Captain, there is a reason, as I said, an' a good one. I didn't
like to tell you, wi' the others listenin'." He nods toward the rest of
the party, who are out of earshot, and then continues, "'Specially the
women folks, as 'tain't a thing they ought to be told about."
"Do you fear some danger?" queries the skipper, in a tone of
apprehension.
"Jest that; an' bad kind o' danger. As fur's I kin see, we've drifted
onto a part of the Feweegin coast where the Ailikoleeps live; the which
air the worst and cruellest o' savages--some of 'em rank cannyballs! It
isn't but five or six years since they murdered, and what's more, eat
sev'ral men of a sealin' vessel that was wrecked somewhere about here.
For killin' 'em, mebbe they might have had reason, seein' as there had
been blame on both sides, an' some whites have behaved no better than
the savages. But jest fur that, we, as are innocent, may hev to pay fur
the misdeeds o' the guilty! Now, Captain, you perceive the wharfor o'
my not wantin' you to land over yonder. Ef we went now, like as not
we'd have a crowd o' the ugly critters yellin' around us, hungering for
our flesh."
"But, if that's so," queried the captain, "shall we be any safer here?"
"Yes, we're safe enough here--'s long as the wind's blowin' as 'tis now,
an' I guess it allers does blow that way, round this speck of an island.
It must be all o' five mile to that land either side, an' in their
rickety canoes the Feweegins never venture fur out in anythin' o' a
rough sea. I calculate, Captain, we needn't trouble ourselves much
about 'em--leastways, not jest yet."
"Ay--but afterward?" murmurs Captain Gancy, in a desponding tone, as his
eyes turn upon those by the boat.
"Wal, sir," says the old sealer, encouragingly, "the arterwards 'll have
to take care o' itself. An' now I guess I'd better determine ef thar
ain't some way o' helpin' Caesar to a spark o' fire. Don't look like
it, but looks are sometimes deceivin'."
And, so saying, he strolls off among the bunches of tussac-grass, and is
soon out of sight.
But it is not long before he is again making himself heard, by an
exclamation, telling of some discovery--a joyful one, as evinced by the
tone of his voice. The two youths hasten to his side, and find him
bending over a small heath-like bush, from which he has torn a handful
of branches.
"What is it, Chips?" ask both in a breath.
"The gum plant, sure," he replies.
"Well, what then? What's the good of it?" they further interrogate.
"You don't suppose that green thing will burn--wet as a fish, too?"
"That's jest what I do suppose," replied the old sailor, deliberately.
"You young ones wait, an' you'll see. Mebbe you'll lend a hand, an'
help me to gather some of it. We want armfuls; an' there's plenty o'
the plants growin' all about, you see."
They do see, and at once begin tearing at them, breaking off the
branches of some, and plucking up others by the roots, till Seagriff
cries, "Enough!" Then, with arms full, they return to the beach in high
spirits and with joyful faces.
Arrived there, Seagriff selects some of the finest twigs, which he rubs
between his hands till they are reduced to a fine fibre and nearly dry.
Rolling these into a rounded shape, resembling a bird's nest, click!
goes his flint and steel--a piece of "punk" is ignited and slipped into
the heart of the ball. This, held on high, and kept whirling around his
head, is soon ablaze, when it is thrust in among the gathered heap of
green plants. Green and wet as these are, they at once catch fire and
flame up like kindling-wood.
All are astonished and pleased, and not the least delighted is Caesar,
who dances over the ground in high glee as he prepares to resume his
vocation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The _Fucus giganteus_ of Solander. The stem of this remarkable
seaweed, though but the thickness of a man's thumb, is often over one
hundred and thirty yards in length, perhaps the longest of any known
plant. It grows on every rock in Fuegian waters, from low-water mark to
a depth of fifty or sixty fathoms, and among the most violent breakers.
Often loose stones are raised up by it, and carried about, when the weed
gets adrift. Some of these are so large and heavy that they can with
difficulty be lifted into a boat. The reader will learn more of it
further on.
Note 2. _Dactylis caespitosa_. The leaves of this singular grass are
often eight feet in length, and an inch broad at the base, the
flower-stalks being as long as the leaves. It bears much resemblance to
the "pampas grass," now well known as an ornamental shrub.