THE ROCKING STONE.
It is not our intention to detail all that happened during the first
week of the castaways’ stay on the island. Soon after the schooner
anchored they were landed in boats and found themselves in the midst of
a strange community indeed. As had appeared from the sea, the collection
of huts—roughly built of driftwood and roofed with anything that came
handy—ran almost down to the margin of the sea. Behind them were great
thickets of thorny, straggly brush, in places higher than a man’s head.
This, they learned afterward, was considered to be impenetrable. Rumor
about the camp had it, though, that Simon Lake and his mate had managed
to traverse it, and had formed paths among the dense growth which were
only known to themselves. However that might be, nobody ever appeared to
enter it for any purpose.
The camp, or collection of shanties, therefore, was to all intents and
purposes, an island within an island. The great shed or barn-like
structure which Tom had noted from the sea was, so it now transpired, a
sort of detaining shed for the Chinamen until they could be shipped
south to the States. It was fitted with numerous bunks and rough cooking
places of brick, made from a kind of sun-dried clay. When the party from
the schooner came ashore it was occupied by some hundred or more
Chinese, who came curiously to the doors and gaped at the newcomers till
some of Lake’s men roughly drove them back.
As for Tom, he could not but admire the system which the rough New
Englander seemed to have instilled into the working of the affairs of
the island. There was, it appeared, a regular division of labor, the men
taking it in turns to go south with the Chinese and to stay and guard
the island and receive the steamer when it came from the north with a
fresh installment of yellow men. In this way Lake had effectually
succeeded in silencing all grumbling over unequal division of tasks.
Lake himself was in absolute command of everything and everybody. It
could be seen that his rough crew feared as well as admired him. As
everywhere where several men are gathered together, some of the
islanders were of a better sort than others. With one of these fellows
Tom soon struck up an acquaintanceship. He was a man who had been with
Lake on sealing cruises and had in this way drifted into his present
life. He confided to Tom that he would be glad to get out of it, but
that Lake had made them all swear, under threat of terrible penalties,
never to desert the band.
We have not referred to our party as prisoners, for in the literal sense
of the word they were not. As will have been seen, there was no need to
surround them with the constant guard and surveillance that Lake’s gang
would have been compelled to exercise elsewhere.
Indeed, every one of them realized bitterly that they were more
effectually in captivity than if they had been encompassed by stone
walls and iron bars. From the bleak, barren islet there was literally no
chance of escape, unless they had sought freedom by utilizing an
airship. True, the schooner lay at anchor in the little bay, and they
were a numerous enough party to have worked her, for both the Kanakas
were expert seamen. But the beach was patroled day and night, and,
although there was nobody on board the schooner to repel them, yet she
was, to all intents and purposes, as inaccessible as if she had swarmed
with men and guns.
True to his word, Lake had set them all to work. Hitherto he had kept a
sort of rough set of accounts. It now became Mr. Chillingworth’s duty to
tabulate and assort these and enter the various transactions of Lake’s
unusual “business” in different books. Then, too, the provisions of so
considerable a party called for a good deal of bookkeeping. The rancher
welcomed the work, however, and plunged into it with avidity. It kept
him from thinking, he explained.
As for Tom, employment of an unique sort was found for him. It has been
mentioned that Zeb Hunt had complained of a shortage of provisions. It
was, in fact, the case that food on the island was scarce and daily
diminishing. At the time the party landed the men were already beginning
to grumble. Lake’s presence at first had the effect of quieting them,
but within a few days the discontented mutterings broke out afresh.
It was this condition of things that occasioned Tom’s employment in a
strange occupation for such a place. The Bungalow Boy was appointed by
Simon Lake storekeeper and purveyor of provisions. He had a hut provided
for him in which he kept his stock—all the provisions on the island.
These he doled out three times a day, giving to each man his exact
portion. It was no sinecure of a position, either. Tom, who, of course,
was in no way responsible for the arrangement or for the shortage of
food, had to meet many black looks and insolent threats as he gave each
man his share, and no more, in the measures Lake had provided for the
purpose.
For an assistant he had Professor Dingle’s boy, and for the first time
in his life that youth was kept so active that he had little time to ask
foolish questions. At the time Tom assumed charge of the store the main
provisions left in the colony consisted of flour, coffee, oatmeal, a
little bacon, and some spices and sugar. For meat the men had to depend
on the fish they caught—luckily, they were plentiful. Lake had, at one
time, maintained a flock of sheep and goats, but these had long since
been used up.
As for Professor Dingle and the two Kanakas, no occupation had, as yet,
been found for them, but they helped at numerous small tasks about the
colony. In return for their services the castaways had been given a hut
in the rear of the storeroom. Here they ate and slept and indulged in
long talks, none of them caring to mingle with the rough characters of
the colony, with the exception of Tom’s friend, whose name was Lucas
Tryon. This man was always a welcome visitor, and he more than repaid
what entertainment they were able to give him by the things he told them
about the island and the ways and customs of its dwellers.
One morning while they were still lingering over the remains of their
scant breakfast, Lake himself slouched in. His wound had now quite
healed. Only a white scar remained to show where he would always carry a
mark.
“Waal, perfesser,” he remarked, “ef you air ready, I reckin I’ve got a
job fer you ter tackle ter-day. Come ter think uv it, ther rest uv you
might come along. Zeb ’ull look arter ther store, an’ he can take care
of ther kid, too.”
The professor at first demurred to this, but Lake’s manner showed that
he was not to be trifled with. Whatever he had in his mind to do he
evidently meant to accomplish without delay. It is a curious light on
the character of Zeb Hunt that, rough, brutal man that he was, he had
become seemingly much attached to the professor’s little lad and was
never irritated at his endless questions. The professor, therefore, felt
less reluctance to leave the lad behind them.
Soon after, with some of the rapidly lessening stock of provisions with
them, the party, at Simon Lake’s heels, struck into the brush. Behind
them in the little settlement were black looks which Tom could not help
but notice. But he had grown so used to this in the store that he paid
little attention to them. Once or twice the sullen demeanor of the men
had seemed on the point of flaring out into actual mutiny, but, so far,
Lake had been able to quell it. It did not occur to Tom that things were
rapidly reaching a crisis.
From the camp the brush appeared to be impenetrable. But under Simon
Lake’s guidance they soon found themselves on a narrow trail which wound
steeply off up the overgrown hillside.
Lake said nothing, but stolidly plodded on till he reached a spot where
the trail opened out into a small clearing—a natural space in the midst
of the dense, rank growth.
“Sit down,” he said, motioning to some rocks which cropped out of the
ground here and there. “Afore we go any farther I’m goin’ ter tell yer
why I brought yer along on this cruise. Back in these mountains Zeb Hunt
and I, on a hunting trip some time back, stumbled across what I believe
are gold-bearing rocks. That’s what I wanted ther perfesser along fer.
He’s a scientific gent, and kin tell in a minnit whether er not they be
worth going arter.”
“How far is this place from here?” inquired the professor.
“Not more than an hour’s tramp by the trail I’m going’ ter take yer,”
was the rejoinder. “I jes’ thought, though, that I’d stop and make it
all clear to yer whar we air bound fer.”
“I fail to see what difference it makes since we are under compulsion to
accompany you, anyhow,” said Mr. Chillingworth, rather bitterly.
Lake looked at him sharply.
“Waal,” he said slowly, “thar’s five of you and only one uv me. But,”
and a slow smile crept over his face as he gazed at his belt in which
hung two revolvers, “somehow I don’t believe it ’ud be healthy fer you
ter try conclusions with me.”
As he spoke he shouldered his rifle and, changing his tone the next
minute, said briskly:
“It’s for’ard, then?”
“Forward by all means,” rejoined the professor.
They all, except the silent Kanakas, echoed his words. At any rate, this
adventure promised to be out of the ordinary run of things, and there
was just a chance that it might prove the stepping-stone to the way of
escape for which they were always on the lookout.
It must have been high noon when they emerged from the rough, rocky
ground in which the brush found root and entered upon scenery of a
totally different character to any they had yet encountered on the
island. The denseness of the brush, which had prevented their looking
about them, had concealed from them the fact that in the past hour of
their march they had been rising very rapidly.
They now found themselves in a barren sort of tableland, which looked
sun-baked and drear. Its surface was seamed and cracked as if by
volcanic action in the past. Almost directly ahead of them, as it
appeared, towered the ragged steeple-like peaks which were such
conspicuous objects from the sea.
But a closer inspection proved that, as a matter of fact, the peaks were
separated from them by a gulf or chasm, which, as a remarkable natural
phenomenon, merits some brief description. A few steps across the arid
tableland brought them to its edge. Tom could not repress a shudder as
he gazed into the fathomless rift. Seared by volcanic fires till its
sides were of a reddish, angry hue, the abyss itself seemed to have
likewise been the result of some tremendous convulsion of nature.
It cleft the island into two parts like a crack in a plate, for it
extended clear across it from one side to the other. While they were
gazing down into the depths of this horrid profundity, Monday gave a
sudden cry, and pointed to a large rock of conical form which upreared
itself like a huge obelisk on the edge of the precipice not far from
where they stood.
“Matura Seral!” they heard him exclaim to Tuesday, who was gazing at the
object with wrapped interest.
“You have seen that stone before, Monday?” asked the professor, reading
aright the expression of the two South Sea natives.
“Yes, boss. Many time when here with whaler. They call him Matura
Seral—in our language that mean Rocking Stone.”
“A rocking stone, eh?” echoed the professor, beaming behind his
spectacles. “One of those truly interesting glacial freaks.”
He hastened forward, following Lake, who had already started for the
stone, of the existence of which he seemed perfectly well aware. At any
rate, it was not an unfamiliar object to him, for as he reached its side
he laid one of his hands upon it, and, to the amazement of the rest,
they saw the mighty mass of stone actually quiver and sway. Yet so
perfectly poised was it on the edge of the chasm, where the same
convulsion that had caused the rift had probably deposited it, that in
the countless ages it had stood there it had not moved from its base.
“Waal, gents all,” said Lake, as they came up, “here’s whar we stop.”
“So it seems,” said Mr. Chillingworth; “but where is that gold mine you
brought us here to examine?”
For reply Lake pointed across the gulf at their feet. Exactly opposite
to where they stood they could now see on the wall of a precipice facing
them a narrow ledge. At one end of this ledge was what appeared to be
the mouth of a cave.
“Thar,” said Lake, indicating the opening; “thar’s the place.”
“How on earth do you expect to cross this gulch?” gasped the professor,
looking at Lake, as if he were in doubt as to whether the fellow was in
his right wits.
Lake exerted a little more of his great strength and gave the rocking
stone a great shove. It bent outward and dipped over the gorge.
“Hyar’s haow we’ll cross,” he said. “It’s a bridge put hyar by either
God or the Devil, but it’s come in handy fer Simon Lake.”