THOUGHTS OF HOME—CHANCES OF RETURN —PLAN TO EXPLORE THE COAST—THE DEPARTURE OF THE 16TH OF APRIL—SERPENTINE PENINSULA SEEN FROM SEA—THE BASALTIC CLIFFS OF THE WESTERN COAST—BAD WEATHER—NIGHT—A NEW INCIDENT.
Two years already! For two years the colonists had had no communication with their fellows! They knew no more of what was happening in the world, lost upon this island, than if they had been upon the most distant asteroid of the solar system.
What was going on in their country? Their fatherland was always present to their eyes, that land which, when they left it, was torn by civil strife, which perhaps was still red with rebellious blood. It was a great grief to them, this war, and they often talked about it, never doubting, however, that the cause of the North would triumph for the honor of the American confederation.
During these two years not a ship had been seen. It was evident that Lincoln Island was out of the route of vessels; that it was unknown—the maps proved this—was evident, because, although it had no harbor, yet its streams would have drawn thither vessels desiring to renew their supply of water. But the surrounding sea was always desert, and the colonists could count on no outside help to bring them to their home.
Nevertheless, one chance of rescue existed, which was discussed one day in the first week of April, when the colonists were gathered in the hall of Granite House.
They had been talking of America and of the small hope of ever seeing it again.
“Undoubtedly, there is but one way of leaving the island,” said Spilett, “which is, to build a vessel large enough to make a voyage of some hundreds of miles. It seems to me, that, when one can build a shallop, they can readily build a ship.”
“And that they can as easily go to the Low Archipelago as to Tabor Island,” added Herbert.
“I do not say we cannot,” replied Pencroff, who always had the most to say on questions of a maritime nature; “I do not say we cannot, although it is very different whether one goes far or near! If our sloop had been threatened with bad weather when we went to Tabor Island, we knew that a shelter was not far off in either direction; but 1,200 miles to travel is a long bit of road, and the nearest land is at least that distance!”
“Do you mean, supposing the case to occur, Pencroff, that you would not risk it?” questioned the reporter.
“I would undertake whatever you wished, sir,” replied the sailor, “and you know I am not the man to draw back.”
“Remember, moreover, that we have another sailor with us, now,” said Neb.
“Who do you mean,” asked Pencroff.
“Ayrton.”
“That is true,” responded Herbert.
“If he would join us,” remarked Pencroff.
“Why,” said the reporter, “do you think that if Lord Glenarvan’s yacht had arrived at Tabor Island while Ayrton was living there, that he would have refused to leave?”
“You forget, my friends,” said Smith, “that Ayrton was not himself during the last few years there. But that is not the question. It is important to know whether we can count on the return of this Scotch vessel as among our chances for rescue. Now, Lord Glenarvan promised Ayrton that he would return to Tabor Island, when he judged his crimes sufficiently punished, and I believe that he will return.
“Yes,” said the reporter, “and, moreover, I think he will return soon, as already Ayrton has been here twelve years!”
“I, also, think this lord will come back, and, probably, very soon. But where will he come to? Not here, but to Tabor Island.”
“That is as sure as that Lincoln Island is not on the maps,” said Herbert.
“Therefore, my friends,” replied Smith, “we must take the necessary precautions to have Ayrton’s and our presence on Lincoln Island advertised on Tabor Island.”
“Evidently,” said the reporter, “and nothing can be easier than to place in Captain Grant’s cabin a notice, giving the situation of our island.”
“It is, nevertheless, annoying,” rejoined the sailor, “that we forgot to do that on our first voyage to the place.”
“Why should we have done so?” replied Herbert. “We knew nothing about Ayrton at that time, and when we learned his history, the season was too far advanced to allow of our going back there.”
“Yes,” answered Smith, “it was too late then, and we had to postpone the voyage until spring.”
“But supposing the yacht comes in the meantime?” asked Pencroff.
“It is not likely,” replied the engineer, “as Lord Glenarvan would not choose the winter season to adventure into these distant seas. Either it has already been to the island, in the five months that Ayrton has been with us, or it will come later, and it will be time enough, in the first fine weather of October, to go to Tabor Island and leave a notice there.”
“It would, indeed, be unfortunate,” said Neb, “if the Duncan has been to and left these seas within a few months.”
“I hope that it is not so,” answered Smith, “and that Heaven has not deprived us of this last remaining chance.”
“I think,” observed the reporter, “that, at least, we will know what our chances are, when we have visited the island; for those Stockmen would, necessarily, leave some trace of their visit, had they been there.”
“Doubtless,” answered the engineer. “And, my friends, since we have this chance of rescue, let us wait patiently, and if we find it has been taken from us, we will see then what to do.”
“At any rate,” said Pencroff, “it is agreed that if we do leave the inland by some way or another, it will not be on account of ill-treatment!”
“No indeed, Pencroff,” replied the reporter, “it will be because we are far from everything which a man loves in this world, his family, his friends, his country!”
Everything having been thus arranged there was no longer any question of building a ship, and the colonists occupied themselves in preparing for their third winter in Granite House.
But they determined, before the bad weather set in, to make a voyage in the sloop around the island. The exploration of the coast had never been completed, and the colonists had only an imperfect idea of its western and northern portions from the mouth of Fall River to the Mandible Capes, and of the narrow bay between them.
Pencroff had proposed this excursion, and Smith had gladly agreed to it, as he wished to see for himself all that part of his domain.
The weather was still unsettled, but the barometer made no rapid changes, and they might expect fair days. So, in the first week of April, after a very low barometer, its rise was followed by a strong west wind, which lasted for five or six weeks; then the needle of the instrument became stationary at a high figure, and everything seemed propitious for the exploration.
The day of departure was set for the 16th, and the Good Luck, moored in Balloon Harbor, was provisioned for a long cruise.
Smith told Ayrton of the excursion, and proposed to him to take part in it; but as Ayrton preferred to remain on shore, it was decided that he should come to Granite House while his companions were absent. Jup was left to keep him company, and made no objection.
On the morning of the 16th all the colonists, including Top, went on board the Good Luck. The breeze blew fresh from the south-west, so that from Balloon Harbor they had to beat up against the wind in order to make Reptile End. The distance between these two points, following the coast, was twenty miles. As the wind was dead ahead, and they had had on starting but two hours of the ebb, it took all day to reach the promontory, and it was night before the point was doubled.
Pencroff proposed to the engineer that they should keep on slowly, sailing under a double-reef, but Smith preferred mooring some cable lengths from shore, in order to survey this part of the coast by daylight.
And it was agreed that henceforth, as a minute exploration of the island was to be made, they would not sail at night, but cast anchor every evening at the most available point.
The wind fell as night approached, and the silence was unbroken. The little party, excepting Pencroff, slept less comfortably than in their beds at Granite House, but still they slept; and at daylight the next morning the sailor raised anchor, and, with a free wind, skirted the shore.
The colonists knew this magnificently wooded border, as they had traversed it formerly, on foot; but its appearance excited renewed admiration. They ran as close in as possible, and moderated their speed in order to observe it carefully. Often, they would cast anchor that Spilett might take photographic views of the superb scenery.
About noon the Good Luck arrived at the mouth of the Fall River. Above, upon the right bank, the trees were less numerous, and three miles further on they grew in mere isolated groups between the western spurs of the mountain, whose arid declivities extended to the very edge of the ocean.
How great was the contrast between the southern and the northern portions of this coast! The one wooded and verdant, the other harsh and savage! It was what they call in certain countries, an “iron-bound coast,” and its tempestuous aspect seemed to indicate a sudden crystallization of the boiling basalt in the geologic epochs. How appalling would this hideous mass have been to the colonists if they had chanced to have been thrown on this part of the island! When they were on Mount Franklin, their position had been too elevated for them to recognize the awfully forbidding aspect of this shore; but, viewed from the sea, it presented an appearance, the like of which cannot be seen, perhaps, in any portion of the globe.
The sloop passed for half a mile before this coast. It was composed of blocks of all dimensions from twenty to thirty feet high, and of all sorts of shapes, towers, steeples, pyramids, obelisks, and cones. The ice-bergs of the polar seas could not have been thrown together in more frightful confusion! Here, the rocks formed bridges, there, nave-like arches, of indistinguishable depth; in one place, were excavations resembling monumental vaults, in another a crowd of points outnumbering the pinnacles of a Gothic cathedral. All the caprices of nature, more varied than those of the imagination, were here displayed over a distance of eight or nine miles.
Smith and companions gazed with a surprise approaching stupefaction. But, though they rested mute, Top kept up an incessant barking, which awoke a thousand echoes. The engineer noticed the same strangeness in the dog’s action as he showed at the month of the well in Granite House.
“Go alongside,” said Smith.
And the Good Luck ran in as close to the rocks as possible. Perhaps there was some cavern here which it would be well to explore. But Smith saw nothing, not even a hollow which could serve as a retreat for any living thing, and the base of the rocks was washed by the surf of the sea. After a time the dog stopped barking, and the sloop kept off again at some cable lengths from the shore.
In the northwest portion of the island the shore became flat and sandy. A few trees rose above the low and swampy ground, the home of myriads of aquatic birds.
In the evening the sloop moored in a slight hollow of the shore, to the north of the island. She was close into the bank, as the water here was of great depth. The breeze died away with nightfall, and the night passed without incident.
The next morning Spilett and Herbert went ashore for a couple of hours and brought back many bunches of ducks and snipe, and by 8 o’clock the Good Luck, with a fair, freshening breeze, was speeding on her way to North Mandible Cape.
“I should not be surprised,” said Pencroff, “if we had a squall. Yesterday the sun set red, and, this morning, the cats-tails foreboded no good.”
These “cats-tails”—were slender cyrrhi, scattered high above, in the zenith. These feathery messengers usually announce the near disturbance of the elements.
“Very well, then,” said Smith, “crowd on all sail and make for Shark Gulf. There, I think the sloop will be safe.”
“Perfectly,” replied the sailor, “and, moreover, the north coast is nothing but uninteresting downs.”
“I shall not regret,” added the engineer, “passing, not only the night, but also tomorrow in that bay, which deserves to be explored with care.”
“I guess we’ll have to, whether we want to or no,” replied Pencroff, “as it is beginning to be threatening in the west. See how dirty it looks!”
“Any how, we have a good wind to make Mandible Cape,” observed the reporter.
“First rate; but, we will have to tack to get into the gulf, and I would rather have clear weather in those parts which I know nothing about.”
“Parts which are sown with reefs,” added Herbert, “if I may judge from what we have seen of the coast to the south of the gulf.”
“Pencroff,” said Smith, “do whatever you think best, we leave everything to you.”
“Rest assured, sir,” responded the sailor, “I will not run any unnecessary risk. I would rather have a knife in my vitals, than that my Good Luck should run on a rock!”
“What time is it?” asked Pencroff.
“10 o’clock.”
“And how far is it to the cape?”
“About fifteen miles.”
“That will take two hours and a half. Unfortunately, the tide then will be going down, and it will be a hard matter to enter the gulf with wind and tide against us.”
“Moreover,” said Herbert, “it is full moon to-day, and these April tides are very strong.”
“But, Pencroff,” asked Smith, “cannot you anchor at the cape?”
“Anchor close to land, with bad weather coming on!” cried the sailor. “That would be to run ourselves ashore.”
“Then what will you do?”
“Keep off, if possible, until the tide turns, which will be about 1 o’clock, and if there is any daylight left try to enter the gulf; if not, we will beat on and off until daylight.”
“I have said, Pencroff, that we will leave everything to your judgment.”
“Ah,” said Pencroff, “if only there was a light-house on this coast it would be easier for sailors.”
“Yes,” answered Herbert, “and this time we have no thoughtful engineer to light a fire to guide us into harbor.”
“By the way, Cyrus,” said Spilett, “we have never thanked you for that; but indeed, without that fire we would not have reached—”
“A fire?” demanded Smith, astounded by the words of the reporter.
“We wish to say, sir,” said Pencroff, “that we would have been in a bad fix on board the Good Luck, when we were nearly back, and that we would have passed to windward of the island unless you had taken the precaution to light a fire, on the night of the 19th of October, upon the plateau above Granite House.”
“Oh, yes, yes! It was a happy thought!” replied Smith.
“And now,” added Pencroff, “unless Ayrton thinks of it, there is not a soul to do us this little service.”
“No—no one!” replied Smith.
And a moment or two later, being alone with Spilett, the engineer whispered to him:—
“If there is anything sure in this world, Spilett, it is that I never lit a fire on that night, either on the plateau or anywhere else!”
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