anguish of all those who were expecting them and watched in vain for
their coming!
Truly these relations and friends of theirs were more to be pitied than
Captain Gould and his company. At any rate, the forlorn company knew
that their dear ones were safe in New Switzerland.
Thus the future loomed heavy with anxiety, and the present was hard.
A new reason for alarm would have been added if all had known what only
Captain Gould and the boatswain knew--that the number of turtles was
decreasing perceptibly, in consequence of their daily consumption!
“But perhaps,” John Block suggested, “it is because the creatures know
of some passage underground through which they can get to the creeks to
the east and west; it is a pity we can’t follow them.”
“Anyhow, Block,” Captain Gould replied, “don’t say a word to our
friends.”
“Keep your mind easy, captain. I told you because one can tell you
everything.”
“And ought to tell me everything, Block!”
Thereafter the boatswain was obliged to fish more assiduously, for the
sea would never withhold what the land would soon deny. Of course, if
they lived exclusively on fish and mollusks and crustaceans, the general
health would suffer. And if illness broke out, that would be the last
straw.
The last week of December came. The weather was still fine, except for a
few thunderstorms, not so violent as the first one. The heat, sometimes
excessive, would have been almost intolerable but for the great shadow
thrown over the shore by the cliff, which sheltered it from the sun as
it traced its daily arc above the northern horizon.
At this season numbers of birds thronged these waters--not only sea-gulls
and divers, sea-mew and frigate-birds, which were the usual dwellers on
the shore. From time to time flocks of cranes and herons passed,
reminding Fritz of his excellent sport round Swan Lake and about the
farms in the Promised Land. On the top of the bluff, too, cormorants
appeared, like Jenny’s bird, now in the poultry-run at Rock Castle, and
albatrosses like the one she had sent with her message from the Burning
Rock.
These birds kept out of range. When they settled on the promontory it
was useless to attempt to get near them, and they flew at full speed
above the inaccessible crest of the cliff.
One day all the others were called to the beach by a shout from the
boatswain.
“Look there! Look there!” he continued to cry, pointing to the edge of
the upper plateau.
“What is it?” Fritz demanded.
“Can’t you see that row of black specks?” John Block returned.
“They are penguins,” Frank replied.
“Yes, they are penguins,” Captain Gould declared; “they look no bigger
than crows, but that is because they are perched so high up.”
“Well,” said Fritz, “if those birds have been able to get up on to the
plateau, it means that on the other side of the cliff the ascent is
practicable.”
That seemed certain, for penguins are clumsy, heavy birds, with
rudimentary stumps instead of wings. They could not have flown up to the
crest. So if the ascent could not be made on the south, it could be on
the north. But from lack of a boat in which to go along the shore this
hope of reaching the top of the cliff had to be abandoned.
Sad, terribly sad, was the Christmas of this most gloomy year! Full of
bitterness was the thought of what Christmas might have been in the
large hall of Rock Castle, in the midst of the two families, with
Captain Gould and John Block.
Yet, in spite of all these trials, the health of the little company was
not as yet affected. On the boatswain hardship had no more effect than
disappointment.
“I am getting fat,” he often said; “yes, I am getting fat! That’s what
comes of spending one’s time doing nothing!”
Doing nothing, alas! Unhappily, in the present situation, there was
practically nothing to do!
In the afternoon of the 29th something happened which recalled memories
of happier days.
A bird settled on a part of the promontory which was not inaccessible.
It was an albatross, which had probably come a long way, and seemed to
be very tired. It lay out on a rock, its legs stretched, its wings
folded.
Fritz determined to try to capture this bird. He was clever with the
lasso, and he thought he might succeed if he made a running noose with
one of the boat’s halyards.
A long line was prepared by the boatswain, and Fritz climbed up the
promontory as softly as possible.
Everybody watched him.
The bird did not move and Fritz, getting within a few fathoms of it,
cast his lasso round its body.
The bird made hardly any attempt to get free when Fritz, who had picked
it up in his arms, brought it down to the beach.
Jenny could not restrain a cry of astonishment.
“It is! It is!” she exclaimed, caressing the bird. “I am sure I
recognise him!”
“What?” Fritz exclaimed; “you mean--”
“Yes, Fritz, yes! It really is my albatross; my companion on Burning
Rock; the one to which I tied the note that fell into your hands.”
Could it be? Was not Jenny mistaken? After three whole years, could that
same albatross, which had never returned to the island, have flown to
this coast?
But Jenny was not mistaken, and all were made quite sure about it when
she showed them a little bit of thread still fastened round one of the
bird’s claws. Of the scrap of cloth on which Fritz had traced his few
words of reply, nothing now remained.
If the albatross had come from so far, it was no doubt because these
powerful birds can fly vast distances. Quite likely this one had come
from the east of the Indian Ocean to these regions of the Pacific
possibly more than a thousand miles away!
Much petting was lavished upon the messenger from Burning Rock. It was
like a link between the shipwrecked people and their friends in New
Switzerland.
Two days later the year 1817 reached its end.
What did the new year hold in store?
CHAPTER VIII
LITTLE BOB LOST
If Captain Gould was not mistaken in his calculations about the
geographical position of the island, the summer season could not have
more than another three months to run. After that, winter would arrive,
formidable by reason of its cold squalls and furious storms. The faint
chance of attracting the attention of some ship out at sea by means of
signals would have disappeared. In winter sailors avoid these dangerous
waters. But just possibly something would happen before then to modify
the situation.
Existence was much what it had been ever since that gloomy 26th of
October when the boat was destroyed. The monotony was terribly trying to
such active men. With nothing to do but wander about at the foot of the
cliff which imprisoned them, tiring their eyes with watching the ever
deserted sea, they needed extraordinary moral courage not to give way to
despair.
The long, long days were spent in conversation in which Jenny bore the
principal part. The brave young woman loved them all, taxed her
ingenuity to keep their minds occupied, and discussed all manner of
schemes, as to the utility of which she herself was under no
misapprehension.
Sometimes they wondered if the island really lay, as they had supposed,
in the west of the Pacific. The boatswain expressed some doubt on this
point.
“Is it the albatross’s coming that has changed your mind?” the captain
asked him one day.
“Well, yes, it has,” John Block replied; “and I am right, I think.”
“You infer from it that this island lies farther north than we supposed,
Block?”
“Yes, captain; and, for all anybody knows, somewhere near the Indian
Ocean. An albatross might fly hundreds of miles without resting, but
hardly thousands.”
“I know that,” Captain Gould replied, “but I know, too, that it was to
Borupt’s interest to take the -Flag- towards the Pacific! As for the
week we were shut up in the hold, I thought, and so did you, that the
wind was from the west.”
“I agree,” the boatswain answered, “and yet, this albatross--. Has it
come from near, or from far?”
“And even supposing you are right, Block, even supposing we were
mistaken about the position of this island, and that it really is only a
few miles from New Switzerland, isn’t that just as had as if it were
hundreds of miles off, seeing that we can’t get away from it?”
Captain Gould’s conclusion was unfortunately only too reasonable.
Everything pointed to the probability of the -Flag- having steered for
the Pacific, far, very far, from New Switzerland’s waters. And yet what
John Block was thinking, others were thinking too. It seemed as if the
bird from Burning Rock had brought hope with it.
When the bird recovered from its exhaustion, which it speedily did, it
was neither timid nor wild. It was soon walking about the beach, feeding
on the berries of the kelp or on fish, which it was very clever in
catching, and it showed no desire to fly away.
Sometimes it would fly along the promontory and settle on the top of the
cliff, uttering little cries.
“Ah, ha!” the boatswain used to say then. “He is asking us up! If only
he could give me the loan of his wings I would willingly undertake to
fly up there, and look over the other side. Very likely that side of the
coast isn’t any better than this one, but at any rate we would know.”
Know? Did they not know already, since Fritz had seen nothing but the
same arid rocks and the same inaccessible heights beyond the bluff?
One of the albatross’s chief friends was little Bob. A comradeship had
promptly been established between the child and the bird. They played
together on the sand. There was no danger to be apprehended from the
teasing of the one or the pecking of the other. When the weather was bad
both went into the cave where the albatross had his own corner.
Serious thought had to be given to the chances of a winter here. But for
some stroke of good fortune they would have to endure four or five
months of bad weather. In these latitudes, in the heart of the Pacific,
storms burst with extraordinary violence, and lower the temperature to a
serious extent.
Captain Gould, Fritz, and John Block talked sometimes of this. It was
better to look the perils of the future squarely in the face. Having
made up their minds to struggle on, they no longer felt the
discouragement which had been caused earlier by the destruction of the
boat.
“If only the situation were not aggravated by the presence of the women
and the child,” Captain Gould said more than once, “if we were only men
here--”
“All the more reason to do more than we should have done,” Fritz
rejoined.
One serious question cropped up in these anticipations of the winter: if
the cold became severe, and a fire had to be kept up day and night,
might not the supply of fuel give out?
Kelp was deposited on the beach by every incoming tide and quickly dried
by the sun. But an acrid smoke was produced by the combustion of these
sea-weeds, and they could not make use of them to warm the cave. The
atmosphere would have been rendered unbearable. So it was thought best
to close the entrance with the sails of the boat, fixing them firmly
enough to withstand the squalls which beset the cliff during the winter.
There remained the problem of lighting the inside of the cave when the
weather should preclude the possibility of working outside.
The boatswain and Frank, assisted by Jenny and Dolly, made many rude
candles out of the grease from the dog-fish which swarmed in the creek
and were very easy to catch.
John Block melted this grease and so obtained a kind of oil which
coagulated as it cooled. Since he had at his disposal none of the cotton
grown by M. Zermatt, he was obliged to content himself with the fibre of
the laminariæ, which furnished practicable wicks.
There was also the question of clothes, and that was a different
question indeed.
“It’s pretty clear,” said the boatswain one day, “that when you are
shipwrecked and cast on a desert island it is prudent to have a ship at
your disposal in which you can find everything you want. One makes a
poor job of it otherwise!”
They all agreed. That was how the -Landlord- had been the salvation of
the people in New Switzerland.
In the afternoon of the 17th an incident of which no one could have
foreseen the consequence caused the most intense anxiety.
As already mentioned, Bob found great pleasure in playing with the
albatross. When he was amusing himself on the shore his mother kept a
constant watch upon him, to see that he did not go far away, for he was
fond of scrambling about among the low rocks of the promontory and
running away from the waves. But when he stayed with the bird in the
cave there was no risk in leaving him by himself.
It was about three o’clock. James Wolston was helping the boatswain to
arrange the spars to support the heavy curtain in front of the entrance
to the cave. Jenny and Susan and Dolly were sitting in the corner by the
stove on which the little kettle was boiling, and were busy mending
their clothes.
It was nearly time for Bob’s luncheon.
Mrs. Wolston called the child.
Bob did not answer.
Susan went down to the beach and called louder, but still got no reply.
Then the boatswain called out:
“Bob! Bob! It’s dinner time!”
The child did not appear, and he could not be seen running about the
shore.
“He was here only a minute ago,” James declared.
“Where the deuce can he be?” John Block said to himself, as he went
towards the promontory.
Captain Gould, Fritz, and Frank were walking along the foot of the
cliff.
Bob was not with them.
The boatswain made a trumpet of his hands and called out several times:
“Bob! Bob!”
The child remained invisible.
James came up to the captain and the two brothers.
“You haven’t seen Bob, have you?” he asked in a very anxious voice.
“No,” Frank answered.
“I saw him half an hour ago,” Fritz declared; “he was playing with the
albatross.”
And all began to call him, turning in every direction.
It was in vain.
Then Fritz and James went to the promontory, climbed the nearest rocks,
and looked all over the creek.
Neither child nor bird was there.
Both went back to the others. Mrs. Wolston was pale with fear.
“Have you looked inside the cave?” Captain Gould asked.
Fritz made one spring to the cave and searched every corner of it, but
came back without the child.
Mrs. Wolston was distracted. She went to and fro like a mad woman. The
little boy might have slipped among the rocks, or fallen into the sea.
The most alarming suppositions were permissible since Bob had not been
found.
So the search had to be prosecuted without a moment’s delay along the
beach and as far as the creek.
“Fritz and James,” said Captain Gould, “come with me along the foot of
the cliff. Do you think Bob could have got buried in a heap of
sea-weed?”
“Yes, you go,” said the boatswain, “while Mr. Frank and I go and search
the creek.”
“And the promontory,” Frank added. “It is possible that Bob may have
taken it into his head to go climbing there and have fallen into some
hole.”
So they separated, some going to the right, some to the left. Jenny and
Dolly stayed with Mrs. Wolston and tried to allay her anxiety.
Half an hour later, all were back again, after a fruitless search.
Nowhere in the bay was any trace of the child, and all their calling had
been without result.
Susan’s grief broke out. She sobbed in anguish and had to be carried,
against her will, into the cave. Her husband, who went with her, could
not utter a word.
Outside, Frank said:
“The child can’t possibly be lost! I tell you again, I saw him on the
shore scarcely an hour ago, and he was not near the sea. He had a string
in his hand, with a pebble at the end of it, and was playing with the
albatross.”
“By the way, where is the bird?” Frank asked, looking round.
“Yes; where is he?” John Block echoed.
“Can they have disappeared together?” Captain Gould enquired.
“It looks like it,” Fritz replied.
They looked in every direction, and especially towards the rocks where
the bird was accustomed to perch.
It was not to be seen, nor could its cry be heard--a cry easily
distinguishable from the noises of the divers, gulls, and sea-mews.
The albatross might have flown above the cliff and made for some other
eminence along the coast. But the little boy could not have flown away.
Yet he might have been capable of climbing along the promontory after
the bird. This explanation was hardly admissible, however, after the
search that Frank and the boatswain had made.
Yet it was impossible not to see some connection between Bob’s
disappearance and that of the albatross. They hardly ever separated, and
now they were both lost together!
Evening drew on. The father and mother were in terrible grief. Susan was
so agitated that they feared for her reason. Jenny, Dolly, Captain Gould
and the others, did not know what next to do. When they reflected that
if the child had fallen into some hole he would have to stay there all
night, they began to search again. A fire of sea-weed was lighted at the
far end of the promontory, to be a guide for the child in case he should
have gone to the back of the creek. But after remaining afoot until the
last possible minute of the evening, they had to give up hope of finding
Bob. And what were the chances of their being more successful next day!
All went back into the cave, but not to sleep. How could they sleep?
First one, and then another went out, watched, listened through the
rippling of the tide, and then came back and sat down again without
saying a word.
It was the most sorrowful, heart-breaking night of all that Captain
Gould and his company had passed upon this deserted coast.
About two o’clock in the morning, the sky, which had been brilliant with
stars until then, began to be overcast. The breeze was now in the north,
and the clouds from that quarter gathered overhead. Not yet very thick,
they chased each other with ever increasing speed, and east and west of
the cliff the sea must certainly be rough.
It was the time when the flood brought up on to the beach the rollers of
the rising tide.
Just at this moment Mrs. Wolston got up, and before she could be stopped
she rushed out of the cave in delirium, shrieking:
“My child! My child!”
Force had to be used to get her back again. James, who had caught his
wife up, took her in his arms and carried her back, more dead than
alive.
The unhappy mother remained stretched out on the heap of kelp where Bob
usually slept by her side. Jenny and Dolly tried to bring her round, but
it was only after great efforts on their part that she recovered
consciousness.
Throughout the remainder of the night the wind moaned incessantly round
the top of the cliff. A score of times the men searched all over the
shore, fearing always that the incoming tide might lay a little corpse
upon the sand.
But there was nothing, nothing! Could the child have been carried out to
sea by the waves?
About four o’clock when the ebb tide was just setting in after the
slack, light appeared in the east.
At this moment Fritz, who was leaning against the back of the cave,
thought he heard a kind of cry behind the wall. He listened, and fearing
that he might be mistaken, went up to the captain.
“Come with me!” he said.
Without knowing, without even asking what Fritz wanted, Captain Gould
went with him.
“Listen!” said Fritz.
Captain Gould listened intently.
“I can hear a bird’s cry,” he said.
“Yes, a bird’s cry!” Fritz declared.
“Then there is a hollow behind the wall.”
“There must be; and perhaps a passage communicating with the outside;
how else is it to be explained?”
“You are right, Fritz!”
John Block was told. He put his ear against the wall, and said
positively:
“It’s the albatross’s cry: I recognise it.”
“And if the albatross is there,” said Fritz, “little Bob must be there
too.”
“But how could they both have got in?” the captain asked.
“That we will find out,” John Block replied. Frank and Jenny and Dolly
were now told. James and his wife recovered a little hope.
“He is there! He is there!” Susan said over and over again.
John Block had lighted one of the thick candles. That the albatross was
behind the wall nobody could doubt, for its cry continued to be heard.
But just before looking to see if it had slipped in by some opening
outside, it was necessary to make sure that the back wall had no
orifice.
Candle in hand, the boatswain began to examine this wall.
John Block could only see on its surface a few fissures which were too
narrow for the albatross or Bob to get through. But at the bottom a
hole, twenty to twenty-five inches wide, was hollowed out in the ground,
a hole big enough to take the bird and the child.
Meantime, however, the albatross’s cry had ceased, and all were afraid
that Captain Gould, the boatswain, and Fritz must have been mistaken.
Then Jenny took John Block’s place, and stooping down level with the
hole, she called the bird several times. The albatross knew her voice as
well as it knew her caress.
A cry answered her, and almost immediately the bird came out through the
hole.
“Bob! Bob!” Jenny called again.
The child did not answer, did not appear. Was he not with the bird
behind the wall? His mother could not restrain a cry of despair.
“Wait!” said the boatswain.
He crouched down and enlarged the hole, throwing the sand out behind
him. In a few minutes he had made the hole large enough for him to
squeeze into it.
A minute later he brought out little Bob, who had fainted, but who was
not long in recovering consciousness under his mother’s kisses.
CHAPTER IX
BOB FOUND
It took Mrs. Wolston some time to recover from her terrible shock. But
Bob was restored to her, and that comforted her.
It appeared that Bob, playing with the albatross, had followed it to the
back of the cave. The bird made its way in through the narrow passage,
and Bob went after it. A dark excavation opened out at the end, and when
the little fellow wanted to get out of this he found that he could not.
At first he called, but his calls were not heard. Then he lost
consciousness, and nobody knows what might have happened if by the
luckiest chance Fritz had not happened to hear the cry of the albatross.
“Well,” said the boatswain, “now that Bob is in his mother’s arms again,
everything is for the best. Thanks to him we have discovered another
cave. It is true we haven’t any use to put it to. The first one was
enough for us, and as a matter of fact we ask nothing better than to get
away from that one.”
“But I want to find out how far it runs back,” Captain Gould remarked.
“Right to the other side of the cliff, do you fancy, captain?”
“Who can tell, Block?”
“All right,” the boatswain answered. “But even supposing it does run
through the cliff, what shall we find on the other side? Sand, rocks,
creeks, promontories, and as much green stuff as I can cover with my
hat.”
“That’s very likely,” Fritz replied. “But none the less we must look.”
“We’ll look, Mr. Fritz; we’ll look. Looking costs nothing, as the saying
is.”
The investigation might have such priceless results that it had to be
undertaken without delay.
The captain, Fritz, and Frank went back to the end of the cave. The
boatswain walked behind them, armed with several big candles. To make
the way easier, those in front enlarged the aperture by removing some
more of the stones which had fallen into it.
A quarter of an hour sufficed to make the opening large enough. None of
them had put on flesh since they had landed. Only the boatswain had not
lost weight since he had left the -Flag-.
When they had all got through, the candles gave sufficient light for
them to examine this second excavation.
It was deeper than the first one, but much narrower, a hundred feet or
so long, ten or twelve feet in diameter, and about the same height. It
was possible that other passages branched off from it and formed a kind
of labyrinth inside the massive cliff. Captain Gould wondered whether
one of these branches might not perhaps lead, if not to the top of the
cliff, at any rate beyond the bluff or the bastion.
When Captain Gould urged this point again John Block replied:
“It certainly is possible. Who knows whether we shan’t reach the top
through the inside, although we couldn’t do so outside?”
When they had gone some fifty feet through this passage, which gradually
got narrower, Captain Gould, the boatswain, and Fritz came to a wall of
rock before which they were obliged to stop.
John Block passed the light all over its surface from the ground to the
vault, but found only narrow fissures into which the hand could not be
put. So there was no more hope of penetrating further through the solid
mass.
Nor did the side walls of the passage disclose any aperture. This second
excavation beyond the first cave was the sole discovery resulting from
the incident.
“Well,” said Captain Gould, “it’s not by this way that we shall get
through the cliff.”
“Nor over it,” added the boatswain.
And, having made sure of that, they could do nothing but go back.
As a matter of fact, although it was rather disappointing not to find
any inner passage, nobody had thought it likely.
And yet when Captain Gould and John Block and Fritz got back, they had a
feeling of being more confined than ever on this shore.
During the next few days the weather, very fine hitherto, showed signs
of changing. Light clouds, which soon grew thicker, obscured the blue
sky, blown over the plateau above by a northerly breeze which, in the
evening of the 22nd of January, strengthened until it blew a gale.
Coming from that quarter, the wind was no menace to Turtle Bay.
Sheltered by the cliff, the bay was not exposed to the breakers, as it
had been in the violent storm which had caused the destruction of the
boat. The sea would remain calm along the shore, not getting the force
of the wind nearer than a good mile and a half from the coast. Even if a
hurricane burst there would be nothing to fear.
A heavy thunderstorm broke on the night of the 22nd. About one o’clock
in the morning everybody was awakened suddenly by a crash of thunder
that made a more appalling noise than a cannon fired at the mouth of the
cave could have done.
Fritz, Frank, and the boatswain sprang from their corners, and rushed to
the door.
“The lightning struck quite close by,” said Frank.
“At the crest of the cliff above us, most likely,” replied John Block,
going a few steps outside.
Susan and Dolly, who were always greatly affected by thunderstorms, as
many people of nervous temperament are, had followed Jenny outside the
cave.
“Well?” Dolly enquired.
“There is no danger, Dolly, dear,” Frank answered. “Go back and close
your eyes and ears.”
But Jenny was just saying to her husband, who had come up to her:
“What a smell of smoke, Fritz!”
“That’s not surprising,” said the boatswain. “There is the fire--over
there.”
“Where?” Captain Gould asked sharply.
“On that heap of sea-weed at the foot of the cliff.”
The lightning had set fire to the heap of dry weed. In a few minutes the
flames had spread to the mass of sea-weeds collected at the base of the
cliff. It burned up like straw, crackling in the breeze, eddying about
like will-of-the-wisps, and spreading an acrid smoke over the whole
beach.
Fortunately, the entrance to the cave was clear, and the fire could not
reach it.
“That’s our reserve burning!” John Block exclaimed.
“Can’t we save any of it?” said Fritz.
“I fear not!” Captain Gould replied.
The flames spread so rapidly that it was impossible to remove to safety
the heaps which furnished the only fuel the shipwrecked people had.
True, the quantity deposited by the sea was inexhaustible. The stuff
would continue to be thrown up, but it would take a long time for such a
quantity to accumulate. The incoming tide deposited a few armfuls twice
in every twenty-four hours. What had lain on the beach was the harvest
of many years. And who could say that, in the few weeks remaining before
the rainy season, the tide would have thrown up enough for the winter’s
need?
In less than a quarter of an hour the line of fire had ringed the whole
circle of the shore, and except for a few heaps along the promontory
there was nothing left.
This fresh hammer-blow of evil fortune aggravated the situation, already
so disturbing.
“Upon my word, it’s no go!”
And coming from the lips of the boatswain, who was always so confident,
the words had exceptional significance.
But they would not make the walls of the prison fall down, to allow the
prisoners to escape!
Next morning the weather, though no longer thundery, was still
unsettled, and the north wind continued to sweep the plateau fiercely.
Their first business was to see whether the sea-weeds piled up along the
bastion had been spared by the fire. They had been partially. The men
brought back in their arms enough to last for a week, exclusive of what
the tides would bring up every day.
While the wind continued to blow from the north these floating masses
would, of course, be carried to sea.
But as soon as it veered round to the south again, the harvest could be
gathered more abundantly.
Nevertheless, Captain Gould pointed out that some precautions would have
to be taken for the future.
“Quite right, captain,” John Block answered; “it would be a good plan to
put what is left of the sea-weed under cover, in case we have to winter
here.”
“Why not store it in the second cave that we have just discovered?”
Fritz suggested.
That seemed to be expressly indicated, and that day, before noon, Fritz
resolved to go back into the cave, in order to examine its nature and
arrangements inside. Provided with a candle, he crept through the narrow
opening communicating between the two caves. Who could say if the second
one had not some means of egress beyond the mass of rock?
But just as he reached the far end of the long passage, Fritz felt a
fresher breath of air, and at the same moment his ear detected a
continual whistling sound.
“Wind!” he muttered. “That’s wind!”
He put his face near the wall, and his hand found several fissures in
it.
“Wind!” he said again. “It certainly is wind! It gets in here when it
blows from the north. So there is a passage, either on the side or at
the top of the cliff! But then, on this side, it would mean that there
is a communication with the northern flank of the cliff!”
Just at that moment the candle which Fritz was passing along the wall
went out suddenly, in a stronger draught blowing through one of the
fissures.
Fritz did not wait for anything more. He was convinced. If one got
through this wall one would have free access to the outside!
To crawl back to the cave where all were waiting for him, to tell them
of his discovery, to take them back again with him, and make sure that
he was right, was only the work of minutes.
In a few minutes more Fritz, followed by Captain Gould, John Block, and
James, went from the first cave into the second. They lighted their way
by candles which, on this occasion, they were careful not to put too
near the wall at the far end.
Fritz was not mistaken. Fresh air was blowing freely through the
passage.
Then the boatswain, passing the light along the level of the ground,
noticed that the passage was closed only by a heap of stones which had
no doubt fallen right down a kind of natural shaft.
“The door!” he exclaimed. “There’s the door! And no need of a key to
open it with! Ah, captain, you were in the right of it after all!”
“Get on to it! Get on to it!” was all Captain Gould’s reply.
It was easy to clear the passage of the obstructing stones. They passed
them from hand to hand, quite a lot of them, for the heap was five or
six feet above the ground level. As the work proceeded the current of
air became stronger. There most certainly was a sort of gorge carved out
inside the mass of the rock.
A quarter of an hour was enough to clear the passage entirely.
Fritz was the first through, and, followed by the others, he went ten or
twelve steps up a very steep slope, dimly lighted.
There was no vertical shaft. A gorge, five or six feet wide and open to
the sky, wound between two walls which rose to an immense height, and a
strip of blue sky formed its ceiling. It was down this gorge the wind
rushed, to creep through the fissures in the wall at the end of the
passage.
And so the cliff was rent right through! But where did the rift open
out?
They could not tell until they had reached the far end of it, supposing
they found it possible to do so.
But for all that they stood like prisoners before whom the gaol doors
have just opened!
It was barely eight o’clock, and there was plenty of time. They did not
even discuss the question of sending Fritz or the boatswain on in
advance to explore. Everyone wanted to go up the passage at once,
without losing a minute.
“But we must take some provisions,” Jenny said. “Who can tell whether we
shall not be away longer than we think?”
“Besides,” Fritz added, “have we any idea where we are going?”
“Outside,” the boatswain replied.
The simple word, so exactly expressing the general sentiment, answered
everything.
But Captain Gould insisted that they should have breakfast first, also
that they should take provisions for several days with them, in case
they should be delayed.
Breakfast was hurried through. After four months passed in this bay,
they were naturally in a hurry to find out whether their situation had
improved, perhaps even changed entirely.
Besides, there would still be time to come back, if the upper plateau
proved to be as barren as the shore, if it were unsuitable for a
settlement, if from the extreme summit no other land were to be seen in
the proximity. If the castaways from the -Flag- found they had landed on
an island or islet, they would return to the cave and make their
arrangements to meet the winter there.
Directly the meal was finished the men took the bundles of provisions.
The first cave was left, and, with the albatross walking beside Jenny,
all went through the mouth of the passage.
When they came to the mouth of the gorge, Fritz and Frank went through
first. After them came Jenny, Dolly, and Susan, holding little Bob’s
hand.
Captain Gould and James came next, and John Block closed the rear.
At first the gorge was so narrow that they had to walk in single file.
It was really nothing but a cleft in the solid rock, running in a
northerly direction between two vertical walls which rose to a height of
eight or nine hundred feet.
After a hundred yards or so in a straight line, the ground began to
slope upwards rather steeply. The way must be a long one, for if it did
debouch upon the plateau it would have had to make up the five hundred
feet or so from the level of the beach to the upper part of the cliff.
Moreover, the journey was soon lengthened by the twists and turns of the
path. It was like the abrupt and capricious twisting of a labyrinth
inside the mass of rock. But judging from the light that spread from
above, Harry Gould believed that the general direction of the gorge was
from south to north. The lateral walls gradually drew further apart,
rendering the march much easier.
About ten o’clock they were obliged to call a halt to allow everyone to
recover breath. They stopped in a sort of semi-circular cavity, above
which a much larger slice of the sky was visible.
Captain Gould estimated that this spot was about two hundred feet above
the level of the sea.
“At this rate,” he remarked, “it will take us five or six hours to reach
the top.”
“Well,” Fritz replied, “it will still be broad daylight when we get
there, and if need be we shall have time to get down again before
night.”
“Quite true, Fritz,” the captain replied, “but how can we be sure that
the gorge is not lengthened by an even greater number of turnings?”
“Or that it does not come out upon the cliff?” Frank added.
“Whether it’s at the top or the side of the cliff, let us take things as
they come,” the boatswain put in. “Above, if it is above, below, if it
is below! After all, this don’t matter much!”
After a rest of half an hour, the march was resumed. The gorge, which
wound about ever more and more, and now measured ten to twelve feet
across, was carpeted with a sandy soil, scattered with pebbles, and
without a sign of vegetation. It seemed as though the summit must be an
arid waste, for otherwise some seed or germ would have been carried down
by the rain and would have sprouted. But there was nothing here--not even
a patch of lichen or moss.
About two o’clock in the afternoon another halt was called for rest and
refreshment. They all sat down in a kind of clearing where the walls
widened out like a bell, and over which the sun was passing on its
downward way to the west. The height now attained was estimated at seven
or eight hundred feet, which justified the hope of reaching the upper
plateau.
At three o’clock the journey was resumed. The difficulties became
momentarily greater. The slope was very steep, the ground strown with
landslips which made climbing hard, and there were large stones which
slipped and bounded down. The gorge, which had widened out considerably,
now formed a ravine, with sides still rising two or three hundred feet
in height. They had to help one another, and pull each other up by the
arms. Everything pointed to the possibility of reaching the plateau now.
And the albatross spread out its wings and rose with a spring, as if
inviting them to follow. Oh! if only they could have followed in its
flight!
At last, after incredible efforts, a little before five o’clock, they
all stood on the top of the cliff.
To south, to east, to west, nothing at all was to be seen--nothing but
the vast expanse of ocean!
Northwards, the plateau extended over an area which could not be
estimated, for its boundary crest could not be seen. Did it present a
perpendicular wall on that side, fronting the sea? Would they have to go
to the far end of it, to see the horizon of the sea in that direction?
Altogether, it was a disappointing sight for people who had hoped to set
foot upon some fertile, verdant, wooded region. The same arid desolation
reigned here as at Turtle Bay, which was perhaps less depressing, if not
less sterile, since mosses did gem it here and there, and there were
plenty of sea-weeds on its sandy shore.
And when they turned towards the east and the west, they looked in vain
for the outlines of a continent or island. Everything went to show that
this was a lonely islet in the middle of these wastes of water.
Not a word was uttered by anyone before this dashing of their last
hopes. These ghastly solitudes offered no resources. There was nothing
to do but descend the ravine, get back to the shore, go into the cave
again, settle down there for the long winter months, and wait for rescue
from outside!
It was now five o’clock, and there was no time to be lost before the
darkness of evening fell. In the gathering shades the walking would not
be easy.
Yet, since the northern part of the plateau had still to be explored, it
seemed best to make the exploration now. Might it not even be well to
camp for the night among the rocks scattered all over the surface? But
perhaps that would not be prudent. If the weather changed, where could
shelter be found? Prudence required that they should go back without
delay.
Then Fritz made a suggestion.
“Jenny, dear, let James and Frank take you back to the cave with Dolly
and Mrs. Wolston and the little chap. You can’t spend the night on the
cliff. Captain Gould, John Block, and I will stay here, and directly it
is light to-morrow we will finish our exploration.”
Jenny did not answer, and Susan and Dolly seemed to be consulting her
with their eyes.
“What Fritz suggests is wise,” Frank put in; “and besides, what good can
we hope to do by staying here?”
Jenny continued to keep silence, with her eyes fixed upon the vast ocean
which spread over three-quarters of the horizon, looking perhaps for the
sight of a sail, telling herself that a light might appear in the far
offing.
The sun was sinking rapidly already, among clouds driven from the north,
and it would mean at least two hours’ march through dense darkness to
reach Turtle Bay.
Fritz began again:
“Jenny, I beg you, go! No doubt to-morrow will be enough for us. We
shall be back in the evening.”
Jenny cast a last look all round her. All had risen, ready to make a
start. The faithful albatross was fluttering from rock to rock, while
the other birds, sea-mews, gulls and divers, flew back to their holes in
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