CHAPTER III
THE MUTINY ON THE FLAG
A cabin was reserved for Fritz and his wife in the -Unicorn-, and an
adjoining one for Frank, and they took their meals at Captain
Littlestone’s table.
Nothing of special note happened during the voyage. There were all the
usual incidents, changeable seas, uncertain winds, calms, and a few
violent outbreaks of heavy weather through which the corvette came
without much damage. In the South Atlantic they passed a few vessels
which would report tidings of the -Unicorn- in Europe. In the present
interval of peace after the long period of great wars, the high seas
were safe.
But the -Unicorn-, which had had a fairly easy time while crossing the
Atlantic, met with shocking weather when south of Africa. A violent
storm burst on her during the night of the 19th of August, and the gale
drove her out to sea again. The hurricane grew more and more violent,
and they had to run before it, as it was impossible to lie to. Captain
Littlestone, splendidly supported by his officers and crew, displayed
great skill. The mizzen-mast had to be cut away, and a leak was sprung
aft which was only smothered with difficulty. At last, when the wind
fell, Captain Littlestone was able to resume his course and hurried to
the harbour at Cape Town for repairs.
On the morning of the 10th of September the top of the Table, the
mountain which gives its name to the bay, was sighted.
Directly the -Unicorn- had found her moorings, James Wolston, with his
wife and Dolly, came out in a boat.
What a welcome they gave Fritz and Jenny and Frank, and how happy they
all were!
For the last ten months they had perforce been without news. Although
there was no particular ground for imagining that anything untoward had
befallen the people at Rock Castle, this absence could not but seem very
long.
James Wolston’s affairs had all been wound up satisfactorily.
But they found themselves confronted by the impossibility of putting to
sea at once. The damage done to the -Unicorn- was serious enough to
necessitate a prolonged stay in Cape Town harbour. It would take two or
three months to make repairs, after her cargo had been taken out of the
corvette. She could not possibly sail for New Switzerland before the end
of October.
But the passengers on the -Unicorn- had an unexpected opportunity of
shortening their stay at the Cape.
There happened to be in the harbour a vessel, due to sail in a
fortnight. She was the -Flag-, an English three-masted vessel of five
hundred tons, captain Harry Gould, bound for Batavia, in the Sunda
Islands. To put in at New Switzerland would take her very little out of
her course, and the passengers for the island were prepared to pay a
good price for their passage.
Their proposal was accepted by Captain Gould, and the -Unicorn’s-
passengers transferred their baggage to the -Flag-.
The three-master’s preparations were finished in the afternoon of the
20th of September. That evening they said good-bye, not without regret,
to Captain Littlestone, promising to look out for the arrival of the
-Unicorn- at the mouth of Deliverance Bay towards the end of November.
Next morning the -Flag- sailed, with a favouring wind from the
south-west, and before the evening of that first day the high summits of
the Cape, left forty miles behind, disappeared below the horizon.
Harry Gould was a fine sailor, with cool courage equal to his
resolution. He was now in the prime of life, at forty-two, and had shown
his quality both as mate and captain. His owners had every confidence in
him.
To this confidence, Robert Borupt, the second officer on the -Flag-, was
not entitled. He was a man of the same age as Harry Gould, jealous,
vindictive, and of uncontrolled passions. He never believed that he
received the due meed of his merits. Disappointed in his hope of being
given the command of the -Flag-, he nursed at the bottom of his heart a
secret hatred of his captain. But his temper had not escaped the
vigilance of the boatswain, John Block, a fearless, reliable man devoted
heart and soul to his chief.
The crew of the -Flag-, mustering some score of men, was not of the
first-class, as Captain Gould very well knew. The boatswain noticed with
disapproval the indulgence too often shown by Robert Borupt to some of
the sailors, when fault should have been found with them for neglect of
duty. He thought that all this was suspicious, and he watched the second
officer, fully determined to give Captain Gould warning, if needful.
Nothing of note happened between the 22nd of August and the 9th of
September. The condition of the sea and the direction of the wind were
alike favourable to the ship’s progress, though the breeze was a shade
too light. If the three-master were able to maintain the same rate of
progress she would reach New Switzerland waters about the middle of
October, within the time anticipated.
But about this time the crew began to manifest symptoms of
insubordination. It even looked as though the second and third officers,
in defiance of every sense of duty, connived at this relaxing of
discipline. Robert Borupt, influenced by his own jealous and perverse
nature, took no steps to check the disorder.
But the -Flag- continued to make her way north-east. On the 9th of
September she was almost in the middle of the Indian Ocean, on the line
of the Tropic of Capricorn, her position being 20° 17' latitude and 80°
45' longitude.
During the course of the previous night symptoms of bad weather had
appeared--a sudden fall of the barometer and a gathering of storm clouds,
both signs of the formidable hurricanes that too often lash these seas
to fury.
About three o’clock in the afternoon a squall got up so suddenly that it
almost caught the ship--a serious matter for a vessel which, heeled over
to one side, cannot answer to her rudder and is in danger of not being
brought up again unless her rigging is cut away. If that is done, she is
disabled, incapable of offering any resistance to the waves while lying
to, and is at the mercy of the ocean’s fury.
As soon as this storm broke the passengers had, of course, been obliged
to keep their cabins, for the deck was swept by tremendous seas. Only
Fritz and Frank stayed on deck to lend a hand with the crew.
Captain Gould took the watch at the outset, and the boatswain was at the
wheel, while the second and third officers were on duty in the
forecastle. The crew were at their posts, ready to obey the captain’s
orders, for it was a matter of life and death. The slightest mistake in
the handling of her, while the seas were breaking over the -Flag- as she
lay half over on the port side, might have meant the end. Every effort
must be made to get her up again, and then to trim her sails so as to
bring her head on to the squall.
And yet the mistake was made, not deliberately perhaps, for the ship ran
the risk of foundering through it, but certainly through some
misunderstanding of the captain’s orders, of which an officer ought not
to have been capable, if he possessed any of the instincts of a sailor.
Robert Borupt, the second officer, alone was to blame. The foretopsail,
trimmed at a wrong moment, drove the ship still farther over, and a
tremendous lump of water crashed over the taffrail.
“That cursed Borupt wants to sink us!” cried Captain Gould.
“He has done it!” the boatswain answered, trying to shove the tiller to
starboard.
The captain leaped to the deck and made his way forward at the risk of
being swept back by the water. After a desperate struggle he reached the
forecastle.
“Get to your cabin!” he shouted in a voice of wrath to the second
officer; “get to your cabin, and stop there!”
Borupt’s blunder was so patent that not one of the crew dared to
protest, although they were all ready to stand by him if he had given
them the word. He obeyed, however, and went back to the poop.
What was possible to do, Captain Gould did. He trimmed all the canvas
that the -Flag- could carry, and succeeded in bringing her up without
being obliged to cut away the rigging. The ship no longer lay broadside
on to the sea.
For three consecutive days they had run before the storm in constant
peril. During almost the whole of that time Susan and Jenny and Dolly
were obliged to keep to their cabins, while Fritz, Frank, and James
Wolston helped in the various operations.
At last, on the 13th of September, an abatement of the storm came. The
wind dropped, and although the sea did not immediately drop too, at last
the waves no longer swept the deck of the -Flag-.
The ladies hurried eagerly out of their cabins. They knew what had taken
place between the captain and the second officer, and why the latter had
been removed from his post. Robert Borupt’s fate would be decided by a
naval court when they got back.
[Illustration: For three days they had run before the storm.]
There was much damage to the canvas to be made good, and John Block, who
was in charge of this work, saw quite clearly that the crew were on the
verge of mutiny.
This state of things could not be lost upon Fritz, or Frank, or James
Wolston, and it filled them with more uneasiness than the storm had
caused them. Captain Gould would not shrink from the severest measures
against the mutineers. But was he not too late?
During the following week there was no actual breach of discipline. As
the -Flag- had been carried some hundreds of miles to the east, she had
to turn back to the west, in order to get into the longitude of New
Switzerland.
On the 20th of September, about ten o’clock, much to the surprise of
all, for he had not been released from arrest, Robert Borupt reappeared
on the deck.
The passengers, who were all sitting together on the poop, had a
presentiment that the situation, grave enough already, was about to
become still more grave.
Directly Captain Gould saw the second officer coming forward he went up
to him.
“Mr. Borupt,” he said, “you are under arrest. What are you doing here?
Answer!”
“I will!” cried Borupt loudly. “And this is my answer!”
Turning to the crew, he shouted:
“Come on, mates!”
“Hurrah for Borupt!” sang from every part of the ship!
Captain Gould rushed down into his cabin and came back with a pistol in
his hand. But he was not given time to use it. A shot, fired by one of
the sailors round Borupt, wounded him in the head, and he fell into the
boatswain’s arms.
Resistance was hopeless against an entire crew of mutineers, headed by
the first and second officers. John Block, Fritz, Frank, and James
Wolston, drawn up near Captain Gould tried in vain to maintain the
struggle. In a moment they were overwhelmed by numbers, and ten sailors
hustled them down to the spar-deck with the captain.
Jenny, Dolly, Susan, and the child were shut into their cabins, over
which a guard was placed by order of Borupt, now ruler of the ship.
The situation of the prisoners in the semidarkness of the spar-deck, and
of the wounded captain whose head could only be dressed with cold
compresses, was a hard one. The boatswain was unfailing in his devotion
to the captain.
Fritz and Frank and James Wolston were consumed by appalling anxiety.
The three women were at the mercy of the mutineers of the -Flag-! The
men suffered agony from the thought that they were powerless.
Several days passed. Twice a day, morning and evening, the hatch of the
spar-deck was opened and the prisoners were given some food. To the
questions that John Block asked them, the sailors only replied with
brutal threats.
More than once did the boatswain and his companions try to force up the
hatch and regain their liberty. But the hatch was guarded day and night,
and even if they had succeeded in raising it, overpowering their guards,
and getting up on deck, what chance would they have had against the
crew, and what would have been the result?
“The brute! The brute!” said Fritz over and over again, as he thought of
his wife and Susan and Dolly.
“Yes; the biggest rascal alive!” John Block declared. “If he doesn’t
swing some day it will be because justice is dead!”
But if the mutineers were to be punished, and their ringleader given the
treatment he deserved, a man-of-war must catch and seize the -Flag-. And
Robert Borupt did not commit the blunder of going into waters where
ships were numerous, and where he and his gang might have run the risk
of being chased. He must have taken the ship far out of her proper
course, most probably to the eastward, with the object of getting away
alike from ships and the African and Australian shores.
Every day was adding a hundred, or a hundred and fifty, miles to the
distance separating the -Flag- from the meridian of New Switzerland.
Captain Gould and the boatswain could tell from the angle at which the
ship heeled to port that she was making good speed. The creaking of the
mast steps showed that the first officer was cramming on sail. When the
-Flag- arrived in those distant waters of the Pacific Ocean where piracy
was practicable, what would become of the prisoners? The mutineers would
not be able to keep them; would they maroon them on some desert island?
But anything would be better than to remain on board the ship, in the
hands of Robert Borupt and his accomplices.
A week had passed since Harry Gould and his friends had been shut up on
the spar-deck, without a word about the women. But on the 27th of
September, it seemed as if the speed of the three-master had decreased,
either because she was becalmed or because she was hove to.
About eight o’clock in the evening a squad of sailors came down to the
captives.
These had no choice but to obey the order to follow him which the second
officer gave them.
What was going on above? Was their liberty about to be restored to them?
Or had a party been formed against Robert Borupt to restore Captain
Gould to the command of the -Flag-?
When they were brought up on to the deck in front of all the crew, they
saw Borupt waiting for them at the foot of the mainmast. Fritz and Frank
cast a vain glance within the poop, the door of which was open. No lamp
or lantern shed a gleam of light within.
But as they came up to the starboard nettings, the boatswain could see
the top of a mast rocking against the side of the ship.
Evidently the ship’s boat had been lowered to the sea.
Was Borupt preparing, then, to put the captain and his friends aboard
her and cast them adrift in these waters, abandoning them to all the
perils of the sea, without the least idea whether they were near any
land?
And the unfortunate women, too, were they to remain on board, exposed to
such appalling danger?
At the thought that they would never see them more, Fritz and Frank and
James determined to make a last attempt to set them free, though it
should end in dying where they stood.
Fritz rushed to the side of the poop, calling Jenny. But he was stopped,
as Frank was stopped, and James was stopped before he heard any answer
from Susan to his call. They were overpowered at once, and despite
resistance were lowered with Captain Gould and John Block over the
nettings into the ship’s boat, which was fastened alongside the vessel
by a knotted cable.
Their surprise and joy--yes, joy!--were inexpressible. The dear ones whom
they had called in vain were in the boat already! The women had been
lowered down a few minutes before the prisoners had left the spar-deck.
They were waiting in mortal terror, not knowing whether their companions
were to be cast adrift with them.
It seemed to them that to be reunited was the greatest grace that Heaven
could have bestowed on them.
And yet what peril menaced them aboard this boat! Only four bags of
biscuit and salt meat had been flung into it, with three casks of fresh
water, a few cooking utensils, and a bundle of clothes and blankets
taken at random from the cabins--a meagre supply at best.
But they were together! Death alone could separate them henceforward.
They were not given much time to reflect. In a few moments, with the
freshening wind, the -Flag- would be several miles away.
The boatswain had taken his place at the tiller, and Fritz and Frank
theirs at the foot of the mast, ready to hoist the sail directly the
boat should be free from the shelter of the ship.
Captain Gould had been laid down under the forward deck. Jenny was
ministering to him where he lay stretched out on the blankets, for he
was unable to stand.
On the -Flag- the sailors were leaning over the nettings, looking on in
silence. Not one of them felt a spark of pity for their victims. Their
fierce eyes gleamed in the darkness.
Just at this moment a voice was raised--the voice of Captain Gould, to
whom his indignation restored some strength. He struggled to his feet,
dragged himself from bench to bench, and half stood up.
“You brutes!” he cried. “You shall not escape man’s justice!”
“Nor yet God’s justice!” Frank added.
“Cast off!” cried Borupt.
The rope dropped into the water, the boat was left alone, and the ship
disappeared into the darkness of the night.
CHAPTER IV
LAND AHOY!
It was Frank who had shouted “Land!” in tones of stentorian salutation.
Standing erect upon the poop, he had thought he could see vague outlines
of a coast through a rift in the fog. So he seized the halyards and
scrambled to the masthead where, sitting astride the yard, he kept his
eyes fixed steadily in the direction where he had seen it.
Close upon ten minutes passed before he caught another glimpse to the
northward. He slid to the foot of the mast.
“You saw the coast?” Fritz asked sharply.
“Yes, over there; under the rim of that thick cloud which hides the
horizon now.”
“Are you sure you were not mistaken, Mr. Frank?” John Block said.
“No, bos’un, no, I was not mistaken! The cloud has spread over the place
again now, but the land is behind it. I saw it; I swear I saw it!”
Jenny had just risen and grasped her husband’s arm.
“We must believe what Frank says,” she declared. “His sight is
wonderfully keen. He could not make a mistake.”
“I haven’t made a mistake,” Frank said. “You must all believe me, as
Jenny does. I saw a cliff distinctly. It was visible for nearly a minute
through a break in the clouds. I couldn’t tell whether it ran to the
east or the west; but, island or continent, the land is there!”
How could they be sceptical about what Frank declared so positively?
To what land the coast belonged they might learn when the boat had
reached it. Anyhow, her passengers, five men, namely Fritz and Frank and
James, Captain Gould and the boatswain John Block, and three women,
Jenny, Holly, and Susan, together with the child, would most certainly
disembark upon its coast, whatever it might be.
If it offered no resources, if it were uninhabitable, or if the presence
of natives made it dangerous, the boat would put to sea again, after
revictualing as well as possible.
Captain Gould was immediately informed and, in spite of his weakness and
pain, he insisted on being carried to the stern of the boat.
Fritz began to make some comments about the signalled land.
“What is of the most concern to us at the present moment, is its
distance from here. Given the height from which it was observed, and
also the foggy state of the atmosphere, the distance cannot be more than
twelve or fifteen miles.”
Captain Gould made a sign of assent, and the boatswain nodded.
“So with a good breeze blowing towards the northward,” Fritz went on,
“two hours should be enough to take us to it.”
“Unfortunately,” said Frank, “the breeze is very uncertain, and seems to
be inclined to go back. If it doesn’t drop altogether I am afraid it may
be against us.”
“What about the oars?” Fritz rejoined. “Can’t we take to the oars, my
brother and James, and I, while you take the tiller, bos’un? We could
row for several hours.”
“Take to the oars!” Gould commanded, in an almost inaudible voice.
It was a pity that the captain was not in a fit state to steer, for,
with four of them to row, the crew might have made a better job of it.
Besides, although Fritz and Frank and James were in the full vigour of
youth, and the boatswain was a sturdy fellow still, and all were
thoroughly hardened to physical exercise, yet they were terribly
weakened now by privation and fatigue. A week had passed since they had
been cast adrift from the -Flag-. They had economised their provisions,
yet only enough remained to last them for twenty-four hours. On three or
four occasions they had caught a few fish by trailing lines behind the
boat. A little stove, a little kettle, and a saucepan were all the
utensils they possessed, besides their pocket knives. And if this land
were no more than a rocky island, if the boat were obliged to resume her
painful course for more long days, looking for a continent or an island
where existence might be possible--what then?
But all felt hope reviving again. Instead of the boat that was
threatened by squalls and tossed about by the waves and half filled by
the sea, they would at least feel firm ground under their feet. They
would install themselves in some cave to shelter there from bad weather.
Perhaps they would find a fertile soil, with edible roots and fruits.
And there they would be able to await the passing of a ship, without
need to fear hunger or thirst. The ship would see their signals, would
come to the rescue of the castaways--all that and more they saw through
the mirage of hope!
Did the coast thus seen belong to some group of islands situated beyond
the Tropic of Capricorn? That was what the boatswain and Fritz discussed
in undertones. Jenny and Dolly had resumed their seats in the bottom of
the boat, and the little boy was sleeping in Mrs. Wolston’s arms.
Captain Gould, eaten up with fever, had been carried back under the
poop, and Jenny was soaking compresses in cold water to lay upon his
head.
Fritz propounded many theories, none of them very encouraging. He was
pretty sure that the -Flag- had sailed a long way to the east during the
week after the mutiny. In that case the boat would have been cast adrift
in that part of the Indian Ocean where the charts show only a few
islands, Amsterdam and Saint Paul, or, farther south, the archipelago of
Kerguelen. Yet even in these islands, the former deserted, the latter
inhabited, life would be assured, salvation certain, and--who could
say?--some day or other they might be able to get home from there.
Besides, if since the 27th of September, the ship’s boat had been
carried northwards by the breeze from the south, it was just possible
that this land was part of the Australian continent. If they got to
Hobart Town, Melbourne, or Adelaide, they would be safe. But if the boat
landed in the south-west portion, in King George’s Bay or by Cape
Leeuwin, a country inhabited by hordes of savages, the position would be
more serious. Here at sea there was at least a chance of falling in with
a ship bound for Australia or some of the Pacific Islands.
“Anyhow, Jenny,” said Fritz to his wife, who had taken his place by her
side again, “we must be a long way--hundreds of miles--from New
Switzerland.”
“No doubt,” Jenny answered, “but it is something that land is there!
What your family did in your island, and what I did on the Burning Rock,
we can do again, can’t we? After being tried as we have been, we have a
right to have confidence in our own energy. Two of Jean Zermatt’s sons
can’t lose heart.”
“My dear wife,” Fritz replied, “if ever I were to falter I should only
have to listen to you! No; we will not fail, and we shall be splendidly
backed up. The boatswain is a man on whom to rely utterly. As for the
poor captain--”
“He will get over it, he will get well, Fritz, dear,” Jenny said
confidently. “The fever will drop. When we get him to land he will be
better attended to, and will pick up his strength, and we shall find our
leader in him once more.”
“Ah, Jenny, dear,” exclaimed Fritz, pressing her to his heart, “may God
grant that this land can offer us the resources that we need! I don’t
ask for as much as we found in New Switzerland; we cannot expect that.
The worst of all would be to encounter savages, against whom we have no
defence, and to be obliged to put to sea again without getting fresh
provisions. It would be better to land upon a desert shore even only an
island. There will be fish in its waters and shells on its beaches, and
perhaps flocks of birds, as we found when we got to the shore at Rock
Castle. We shall contrive to revictual, and after a week or two, when we
have had a rest and the captain has recovered his strength, we could set
out to discover a more hospitable coast. This boat is sound and we have
an excellent sailor to manage her. The rainy season is not nearly due
yet. We have lived through some storms already, and we should live
through more. Let this land, whatever it is, only give us some fresh
provisions, and then, with the help of God--”
“Fritz, dear,” Jenny answered, clasping her husband’s hands in her own,
“you must say all that to our companions. Let them hear you, and they
will not lose heart.”
“They never have, for a moment, dear wife,” said Fritz; “and if they
ever should falter, it is you, bravest and most capable of women, the
English girl of Burning Rock, who would give them hope once more!”
All thought as Fritz did of this brave Jenny. While they had been shut
up in their cabins it was from her that Dolly and Susan had been
encouraged to resist despair.
One advantage this land seemed to have. It was not like New Switzerland,
through whose waters merchant vessels never passed. On the contrary,
whether it were the southern coast of Australia or Tasmania, or even an
island in the archipelagoes of the Pacific, its position would be marked
in the naval charts.
But even if Captain Gould and his companions could entertain some hope
of being picked up there, they could not be otherwise than profoundly
distressed by the thought of the distance that separated them from New
Switzerland--hundreds of miles, no doubt, since the -Flag- had sailed
steadily eastwards for a whole week.
It was now the 13th of October. Nearly a year had passed since the
-Unicorn- had left the island, whither she was due to return about this
time. At Rock Castle, M. and Mme. Zermatt, Ernest and Jack, Mr. and Mrs.
Wolston and Hannah, were counting the days and hours.
In a few weeks more, after her stay at Cape Town, the -Unicorn- would
appear in New Switzerland waters, and then the Zermatts and Wolstons
would learn that their missing dear ones had taken their passage in the
-Flag-, which had not been seen again. Could they doubt that she had
perished with all hands in one of the frequent storms that rage in the
Indian Ocean? Would there be room for hope that they would ever see her
passengers again?
All that was in the future, however; the immediate present held quite
enough formidable possibilities to engage their attention.
Ever since Frank had pointed out the land, the boatswain had been
steadily steering in a northerly direction, not an easy task without a
compass. The position indicated by Frank was only approximate, and
unfortunately the thick curtain veiled the horizon line, which, from
observers on the level of the sea, must still be ten or twelve miles
away.
The oars had been got out. Fritz and James were rowing with all the
strength they could exert. But in their state of exhaustion they could
not lift the heavily loaded boat, and it would take them the entire day
to cover the distance which lay between them and the shore.
God grant that the wind might not thwart all their efforts! On the whole
it would be better if the calm endured till evening. Should the breeze
blow from the north, the boat would be carried far back from these
waters.
By mid-day it was questionable whether more than a couple of miles had
been done since morning. The boatswain suspected that a current was
setting in the opposite direction.
About two o’clock in the afternoon John Block, who was standing up,
exclaimed:--
“A breeze is coming; I can feel it! The jib by itself will do more than
the oars.”
The boatswain was not mistaken. A few minutes later little flaws began
to paint green the surface of the water in the south-west, and a creamy
ripple spread right to the sides of the boat.
“That shows you are right, Block,” said Fritz. “But still, the breeze is
so faint that we must not stop rowing.”
“We won’t stop, Mr. Fritz,” the boatswain answered; “let us plug away
until the sail can carry us towards the coast.”
“Where is it?” asked Fritz, trying in vain to look through the curtain
of fog.
“Right in front of us, for sure!”
“Is it so certain, Block?” Frank put in.
“Where would you have it be, except behind that cursed fog up there in
the north?” the boatswain retorted.
“We would have it there all right,” James Wolston said. “But that is not
surety enough!”
And they could not possibly know, unless the wind should freshen.
This it made no haste to do, and it was after three when the flapping of
the half-clewed sail showed that it might now be of use.
The oars were taken in, and Fritz and Frank hoisted the foresail and
hauled it in hard, while the boatswain secured the sheet which was
thrashing the gunwale.
Was it nothing more than a capricious breeze, whose intermittent breath
would not be strong enough to disperse the fog?
For twenty minutes more doubt reigned. Then the swell took the boat
broadside on, and the boatswain had to bring her head round with one of
the sculls. The foresail and the jib bellied out, drawing the sheets
quite taut.
The direction they had to take was northward, until the wind should
clear the horizon.
They hoped that this might happen as soon as the breeze had got so far.
So all eyes were fixed in that direction. If the land showed only for
one moment, John Block would ask no more, but would steer for it.
But no rift appeared in the veil, although the wind seemed to acquire
force as the sun went down. The boat was moving fairly fast. Fritz and
the boatswain were beginning to wonder if they had passed the land.
Doubt crept into their hearts again. Had Frank been mistaken, after all?
Had he really caught sight of land to the northward?
He declared again most positively that he had.
“It was a high coast,” he declared again, “a cliff with an almost
horizontal crest, and it was impossible to mistake a cloud for it.”
“Yet, since we are bearing down upon it,” Fritz replied, “we ought to
have reached it by now. It could not have been more than twelve or
fifteen miles off then.”
“Are you sure, Block,” Frank went on, “that you have been steering the
boat on to it all the time, and that it was due north?”
“It is possible that we have got on a wrong tack,” the boatswain
acknowledged. “And so I think it would be better to wait until the
horizon clears, even if we have to stay where we are all night.”
That might be the best thing to do. But if the boat were close to the
shore it would not be wise to risk it among the reefs which probably
fringed it.
So all listened intently, trying to detect the least sound of surf.
Nothing was to be heard--none of the long and sullen rolling of the sea
when it breaks upon reefs of rocks, or bursts in foam upon the beach.
The utmost caution had to be exercised. About half-past five, the
boatswain ordered the foresail to be struck. The jib was left as it was,
to give steerage way.
It was the wisest thing to do, to reduce the speed of the boat until the
land was sighted.
At night, in the midst of such profound darkness, there was danger in
venturing near a coast--danger of counter-currents drifting on to it,
though there might be no wind. In similar conditions a ship would not
have delayed until the evening to put out again and seek the security of
the open sea. But a boat cannot do what a ship may. To tack up against
the southerly wind, which was freshening now, would have involved a risk
of getting too far away--not to mention the severe toil.
So the boat stayed where it was, with only the jib sail set, hardly
moving, her head pointed north.
But at last all uncertainty and all possibility of mistake was removed.
About six o’clock in the evening the sun showed itself for a moment
before disappearing below the waves.
On the 21st of September it set exactly in the west, and on the 13th of
October, twenty-three days after the equinox, it set a little above in
the southern hemisphere. Just at that moment the fog lifted, and Fritz
could see the sun drawing near to the horizon. Ten minutes later its
fiery disc was flush with the line of sky and sea.
“That is the north, over there!” said Fritz, pointing with his hand to a
point rather to the left of that on which the boat was headed.
Almost at once he was answered by a shout, a shout that all of them
uttered together.
“Land! Land!”
The mist had just dispersed, and the coast-line was revealed not more
than a mile away.
The boatswain steered straight for it. The foresail was set again and
swelled out in the dying breeze.
Half an hour later the boat had grounded on a sandy beach, and was made
fast behind a long point of rock, well sheltered from the surf.
CHAPTER V
A BARREN SHORE
The castaways had reached land at last! Not one of them had succumbed to
the fatigue and privations of their fortnight’s voyage under such
distressing and dangerous conditions, and for that thanks were due to
God. Only Captain Gould was suffering terribly from fever. But in spite
of his exhaustion, his life did not appear to be in danger, and a few
days’ rest might set him up again.
The question rose, what was this land on which they had disembarked?
Whatever it was, it unhappily was not New Switzerland, where, but for
the mutiny of Robert Borupt and his crew, the -Flag- would have arrived
within the expected time. What had this unknown shore to offer instead
of the comfort and prosperity of Rock Castle?
But this was not the moment to waste time over such questions. The night
was so dark that nothing could be seen except a strand backed by a lofty
cliff, at its sides bastions of rock. It was settled that all should
remain in the boat until sunrise. Fritz and the boatswain were to keep
watch until the morning. The coast might be frequented by natives, and
vigilance was necessary. Whether it were Australian continent or Pacific
Island, they must be upon their guard. In the event of attack they would
be able to escape by putting out to sea.
Jenny, Dolly, and Susan therefore resumed their places beside Captain
Gould. Frank and James stretched themselves out between the benches,
ready to spring up at the call of the boatswain. But for the moment they
had reached the limit of their strength, and they fell asleep
immediately.
Fritz and John Block sat together in the stern and talked in low tones.
“So here we are in harbour, Mr. Fritz,” said the boatswain; “I knew we
should end by getting there. If it isn’t, properly speaking, a harbour,
you will agree at any rate that it is ever so much better than anchoring
among rocks. Our boat is safe for the night. To-morrow we will look into
things.”
“I envy you your cheerfulness, my dear Block,” Fritz answered. “This
neighbourhood does not inspire me with any confidence, and our position
is anything but comfortable near a coast whose bearings we do not even
know.”
“The coast is a coast, Mr. Fritz. It has got creeks and beaches and
rocks; it is made like any other, and I don’t suppose it will sink from
under our feet. As for the question of leaving it, or of settling on it,
we will decide that later.”
“Anyhow, Block, I hope we shall not be obliged to put to sea again
before the captain has had a little time to rest and recover. So if the
spot is deserted, if it has resources to offer, and we run no risk of
falling into the hands of natives, we must stay here some time.”
“Deserted it certainly seems to be so far,” the boatswain replied, “and
to my thinking, it is better it should be.”
“I think so, too, Block, and I think that we shall be able to renew our
provisions by fishing, if we can’t by hunting.”
“As you say, sir. Then, if the game here only amounts to sea-birds which
one can’t live on, we will hunt in the forests and plains inland and
make up our fishing that way. Without guns, of course--”
“What brutes they were, Block, not even to leave us any firearms!”
“They were perfectly right--in their own interests, you understand,” the
boatswain replied. “Before we let go I could not have resisted the
temptation to shoot at the head of that rascal Borupt--the treacherous
hound!”
“Traitors all,” Fritz added; “all of them who stood in with him.”
“Well, they shall pay for their treachery some day!” John Block
declared.
“Did you hear anything, bos’un?” Fritz asked suddenly, listening
intently.
“No; that sound is only the ripples along the shore. There is nothing to
worry about, so far, and although the night is as dark as the bottom of
the hold I’ve got good eyes.”
“Well, don’t shut them for a moment, Block; let us be prepared for
anything.”
“The hawser is ready to be cast off,” the boatswain answered. “If need
be, we shall only have to seize the oars, and with one shove with the
boat-hook I’ll guarantee to drive the boat a good twenty yards from the
rocks.” More than once, however, during the night, Fritz and the
boatswain were set on the alert. They thought they could hear a crawling
sound upon the sandy shore.
Deep silence reigned. The breeze had died away; the sea had fallen to a
calm. A slight surf breaking at the foot of the rocks was all that could
be heard. A few birds, a very few, gulls and sea-mews flying in from the
sea, sought their crannies in the cliffs. Nothing disturbed the first
night passed upon the shore.
Next morning all were astir at daybreak, and it was with sinking hearts
that they examined the coast on which they had found refuge.
Fritz had been able to see part of it the day before, when it was a mile
or so away. Viewed from that point it extended ten or twelve miles east
and west. From the promontory at the foot of which the boat was moored,
only a fifth of that, at most, could be seen, shut in between two angles
with the sea beyond, clear and lucent on the right hand but still dark
upon the left. The shore extended for a stretch of perhaps a mile,
enclosed at each end by lofty bastions of rock, while a black cliff
completely shut it in behind.
This cliff must have been eight or nine hundred feet in height, rising
sheer from the beach, which sloped steeply up to its base. Was it higher
still beyond? That could only be ascertained by scaling the crest by
means of the bastions, one of which, the one to the east, running rather
farther out to sea, presented an outline that was not so perpendicular.
Even on that side, however, the ascent would be an uncommonly difficult
one, if indeed it were not impracticable.
Captain Gould and his companions were first conscious of a feeling of
utter discouragement as they beheld the wild desolation of this carpet
of sand, with points of rock jutting out here and there. Not a tree, not
a bush, not a trace of vegetation! Here were the melancholy and horror
of the desert. The only verdure was that of scanty lichens, those
rudimentary productions of nature, rootless, stalkless, leafless,
flowerless, looking like scabby patches on the sides of the rocks, and
of every tint from faded yellow to brilliant red. In some places, too,
there was a kind of sticky mildew caused by the damp. At the edge of the
cliff there was not a blade of grass; on its granite wall there was not
a single one of those stone-crops or rock plants which need so very
little soil.
Was it to be deduced that soil was lacking on the plateau above as well?
Had the boat found nothing better than one of those desert islands
undeserving of a name?
“It certainly isn’t what you might call a gay place,” the boatswain
murmured in Fritz’s ear.
“Perhaps we should have had better luck if we had come ashore on the
west or east.”
“Perhaps,” Block assented; “but at any rate we shall not run up against
any savages here.”
For it was obvious that not even a savage could have existed on this
barren shore.
Jenny, Frank, Dolly, James, and Susan sat in the boat, surveying the
whole coast, so different from the verdant shores of the Promised Land.
Even Burning Rock, gloomy of aspect as it was, had had its natural
products to offer to Jenny Montrose, the fresh water of its stream and
the game in its woods and plains. Here was nothing but stones and sand,
a bank of shells on the left, and long trails of sea-weeds left high and
dry by the tide. Verily, a land of desolation!
The animal kingdom was represented by a few sea-birds, gulls,
black-divers, sea-mews, and swallows, which uttered deafening cries at
finding their solitude disturbed by the presence of man. Higher up,
great frigate-birds, halcyons and albatrosses sailed on powerful wings.
“Well,” said the boatswain at last, “even if this shore is not so good
as yours in New Switzerland, that’s no reason for not landing on it.”
“Then let us land,” Fritz answered. “I hope we shall find somewhere to
shelter at the foot of the cliff.”
“Yes, let us land,” said Jenny.
“Dear wife,” said Fritz, “I advise you to remain here in the boat, with
Mrs. Wolston and Dolly, while we make our trip. There is no sign of
danger, and you have nothing to be afraid of.”
“Besides,” the boatswain added, “we most likely shan’t go out of sight.”
Fritz jumped on to the sand, followed by the others, while Dolly called
out cheerfully: “Try to bring us back something for dinner, Frank! We
are relying upon you.”
“We must rely upon you rather, Dolly,” Frank replied. “Put out some
lines at the foot of those rocks.”
“We had better not land,” Mrs. Wolston agreed. “We will do our best
while you are away.”
“The great thing,” Fritz remarked, “is to keep what little biscuit we
have left, in case we are obliged to put to sea again.”
“Now, Mrs. Fritz,” John Block said, “get the stove going. We are not the
kind of people to be satisfied with lichen soup or boiled pebbles, and
we promise to bring you something solid and substantial.”
The weather was fairly fine. Through the clouds in the east a few
sun-rays filtered.
Fritz, Frank, James, and the boatswain trudged together along the edge
of the shore, over sand still wet from the last high tide.
Ten feet or so higher the sea-weeds lay in zig-zag lines.
Some were of kinds which contain nutritive substances, and John Block
exclaimed:
“Why, people eat that--when they haven’t got anything else! In my
country, in Irish sea-ports, a sort of jam is made of that!”
After walking three or four hundred yards in this direction, Fritz and
his companions came to the foot of the bastion to the west. Formed of
enormous rocks with slippery surfaces, and almost perpendicular, it
plunged straight down into the clear and limpid water which the slight
surf scarcely disturbed. Its foundations could be seen seven or eight
fathoms below.
To climb along this bastion was quite impossible for it rose
perpendicularly. It would be necessary to scale the cliff in order to
find out if the upper plateau displayed a less arid surface. Moreover,
if they had to abandon the idea of climbing this bastion it meant that
they could only get round it by means of the boat. The matter of present
urgency, however, was to look for some cavity in the cliff wherein they
could take shelter.
So all went up to the top of the beach, along the base of the bastion.
When they reached the corner of the cliff, they came upon thick layers
of sea-weeds, absolutely dry. As the last water-marks of the high tide
were visible more than two hundred yards lower down, this meant--the
steep pitch of the shore being taken into account--that these plants had
been thrown up so far, not by the sea, but by the winds from the south,
which are very violent in these waters.
“If we were obliged to spend the winter here,” Fritz remarked, “these
sea-weeds would supply us with fuel for a long time, if we could not
find any wood.”
“Fuel that burns fast,” the boatswain added. “Before we came to the end
of heaps like that, of course--. But we have still got something to boil
the pot with to-day. Now we must find something to put in it!”
“Let’s look about,” Frank answered.
The cliff was formed by irregular strata. It was easy to recognise the
crystalline nature of these rocks, where feldspar and gneiss were mixed,
an enormous mass of granite, of plutonic origin and extreme hardness.
This formation recalled in no respect to Fritz and Frank the walls of
their own island from Deliverance Bay to False Hope Point, where
limestone only was found, easily broken by pick or hammer. It was thus
that the grotto of Rock Castle had been fashioned. Out of solid granite,
any such work would have been impossible.
Fortunately there was no need to make any such attempt. A hundred yards
from the bastion, behind the piles of sea-wrack, they found a number of
openings in the rock. They resembled the cells of a gigantic hive, and
possibly gave access to the inside of the rock.
There were indeed several cavities at the foot of this cliff.
While some provided only small recesses, others were deep and also dark,
owing to the heaps of sea-weed in front of them. But it was quite likely
that in the opposite part, which was less exposed to the winds from the
sea, some cavern opened into which they might carry the stores from the
boat.
Trying to keep as near as possible to where the boat was moored, Fritz
and his companions walked towards the eastern bastion. They hoped to
find this more practicable than the other, because of its elongated
outline in its lower portion, and thought that they might be able to get
round it. Although it stood up sheer in its upper portion, it sloped
towards the middle and ended in a point by the sea.
Their anticipations were not disappointed. In the corner formed by the
bastion was a cave quite easy of access. Sheltered from the easterly,
northerly, and southerly winds, its position exposed it only to the
winds from the west, less frequent in these regions.
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