Book Three—Chapter Five.
Fortifying the Encampment.
The sound was that of falling masts. A sailor of less experience than Ransey could have told that.
The barque had been dashed stern-foremost upon the rocks. She had been lifted by one of those mighty waves, or “bores,” that during a storm like this sometimes rise to the height of fifty feet or more, and hurrying onwards sweep over islands, and pass, leaving in their wake only death and destruction.
After the masts had gone clean by the board, there were loud grating noises for a short time, then the motion of the ship ceased—and ceased for ever and ay.
Nelda’s voice, calling for her father, brought the boy to himself.
“I’m here, dear,” he sang out. “It is all right; I’ll go and get a light; lie still.”
“Oh, don’t leave me. Tell me, tell me,” wept the wee lass, “is the ship at the bottom? And are we all drowned?”
Luckily, Janeira now managed to strike a light, and poor Nelda’s mind was calm once more.
Bob had slept on the sofa cushions all throughout this dreadful night; but Ransey was now very much astonished, indeed, to see the stately ’Ral walk solemnly in at the door, and gently lower his head and long neck over Nelda, that she might scratch his chin.
“Oh, you dear, droll ’Rallie,” cried the child, smiling through her tears, “and so you’re not drowned?”
But no one could tell where the ’Ral had spent the night.
Under the influence of great terror, the Admiral was in the habit of “trussing” himself, as the sailors called it—that is, he close-reefed his long neck till his head was on a level with his wings, and his long bill lying downwards along his crop. Then he drew up his thighs, and lowered himself down over his legs. He was a comical sight thus trussed, and seemed sitting on his tail, and no taller than a barn-door fowl. It was convenient for him, however, for he could thus stow himself away into any corner, and be in nobody’s way.
Daylight came at last, and it was now found that the Sea Flower had been lifted by the mighty wave, and after being dashed into a gully in the barrier of rocks that stretched along the eastern side of Treachery Bay, had been left there high and dry.
The marvel is that, although several of the hands had been more or less shaken and bruised, no one was killed.
The position of the wrecked barque was indeed a strange one. Luckily for her the sea had risen when the tide was highest, so that she now lay on an even keel upon the shelf of rocks, twenty feet above the bay at low water.
The monster wave seemed to have made a clean breach of the lowland part of the island, and gone surging in through the dead forest, smashing thousands of the blackened trees to the ground, and quite denuding all that were left of their beautiful drapery of foliage, climbing flowers, and floral parasites.
At each side of the gully the black rocks towered like walls above the hulk, but landwards, a green bank, of easy ascent, sloped up to the well-wooded table-land above.
As speedily as possible the main part of the wreckage was cleared away. This consisted of a terrible entanglement of ropes and rigging. But the spars were sawn up into lengths that could be easily moved, and so, in a few hours’ time, the unfortunate Sea Flower was simply a dismantled hulk.
When the work was finally accomplished, the men were permitted to go below, to cook breakfast, and sleep if they had a mind to.
But not till prayers were said, and thanks, fervent and heartfelt, offered up to the God who, although He had seen fit to wreck the ship, had so mercifully spared the lives of all.
Strange, indeed, was now the position of these shipwrecked mariners, and it was difficult for Halcott, Tandy, and James Malone to review it with even forced calmness.
The three men walked up together to the table-land to hold a council, taking no one with them.
The storm had gone down almost as quickly as it had arisen, and sea and sky were blue and beautiful once again.
Said James, as they all sat smoking there,—
“Brother Halcott, my first words are these—and I’m an older man than either of you—We must not despair!”
“We must not despair!” repeated both his shipmates.
But they did not smile, and their voices sounded almost hollow, or as if they came up out of a phonograph.
James laid his hand on his friend’s knee.
“Our prospects are bad, I allow,” he said, “the future looks dark and drear. We are far, far beyond the ordinary track of ships; ships seldom, if ever, come this way, unless driven out of their course by stress of weather. I think, then, brother, that we may dismiss from our minds, as useless, all hope from that direction. But dangers loom ahead that we must not, dare not, try to minimise. We are here with but limited supplies of food and ammunition, and these can hardly last for ever. The nearest land is hundreds and hundreds of miles away, the wild, inhospitable shores of Northern Patagonia. We are but eleven all told, excluding the boys Ransey and Fitz, the dear child, and Janeira—eleven working hands. Could we expect or dare, as a last resource, to reach the far-off land in two open boats? Did we attempt this, we should have to reckon, at the outset, upon opposition from the wild natives of that north island; then on the dangers of the elements during this long, forlorn cruise. Worst of all, if not an-hungered, we might perish from thirst. Tandy, you would go mad were you to see the anxious, fevered face and dry, parched lips of your child upturned to the sky, weak and weary, and praying for the drop of water you could not find to give her.”
“Hush, James, hush!” cried Tandy; “sooner far we should all die where we are.”
“I do not mention these matters to worry you, men, but that, knowing our dangers, we may be prepared to face them.
“Then,” he continued, “there is the king of this island and his warriors to be thought about. Fools, indeed, were we did we not reckon on these, for they constitute the danger that presses most, now that we are wrecked—the danger, probably, first to be faced.”
“You think, then, they will return?”
James Malone pointed to the far-off volcanic hill, which was once more belching forth smoke.
“They will return,” he said, “when yonder cloud rests no longer on the mountain top.
“Yes, brother, it might be possible to make friends of them. But I doubt it. Treachery is written on every lineament of their black and fearsome faces. I should never, never trust them.
“And now, men,” he continued, after a thoughtful pause, “I have painted our situation in its darkest colours. Let us see, then, where the light comes in. The light and the hope.”
As he spoke he took from his bosom a little Bible and those big horn “specs” that Halcott mentioned in his story. These last he mounted on his nose, and turning over the leaves read solemnly as follows:—
“‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
“‘Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea.
“‘The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved; He uttered his voice, the earth melted.
“‘The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Amen!’
“In these words,” said James closing the book, “and in many such promises, do I place my hope and confidence. God heard my prayers before, gentlemen. He will hear ours now. I think our deliverance will come about in some strange way. Just let us trust.”
But James Malone’s religion was of a very practical kind. “Trust in God, and keep your powder dry,” are words that have been attributed to Cromwell. They are to the point.
“Fortuna favet fortibus,” (fortune favours the brave), you know, reader; and it is wrong to expect God to help us to do that which He has given us the power to do for ourselves.
“And now, gentlemen,” said James, rising to his feet, “let us work.”
“The first thing to be considered, then,” said Halcott, “is, I think you will agree with me, James, our defence.”
“That is so,” said James quietly. “The savages will come sooner or later, I fear, and it is but little likely they will come prepared to shake us by the hand and make friends with us. Even if they did, I should be prepared to fight them, for you never know what might happen.”
“Right, James, right. We may be thankful anyhow that as yet we are all spared and well. Now, you just have the hands lay aft, and tell them, brother, in your convincing way, how matters stand. Speak to them as you spoke to us.”
James answered never a word, but went straight down the green declivity and boarded the vessel. He did not ask the men to come to the quarterdeck—James was non-demonstrative in all his methods. He would have no “laying aft” business. This was too much man-of-war fashion for him, so he simply went forward to the forecastle and beckoned the few hands around him.
A minute or two after this Halcott and Tandy, still lying at ease on the brow of the embankment, heard a lusty cheer. From their position they could command a view of the deck, and now, on looking down, behold! the brave little crew were taking off their jackets and tightening their waist-belts, and a mere tyro could have told that that meant business.
Halcott got up now; he plucked a pinch of moss, and after plugging his pipe therewith he placed it carefully away in his jacket pocket.
That meant business also.
“Come, Tandy,” he said, and both descended.
The position, it must be admitted, was one which it would be rather difficult for so small a garrison to defend successfully.
The vessel, as I have already said, had been dashed stern on to the rocks and into the gully, and the jibboom hung over a black, slippery precipice that descended sheer down into the sea. This cliff, however, was not so slippery but that it might afford foothold for naked savages. It must be included, therefore, in the plan of defence.
But from the cliffs that rose on each side of the ship an enemy could attack her, and the deck below would then be quite at the mercy of their poisoned spears and their clouds of arrows, while the bank astern which sloped upwards to the table-land could easily be rushed by a determined foe.
An outer line of defence was therefore imperative; in fact this would be of as much service to these Crusoes as the Channel Fleet is to the British Islands.
This part of the work was therefore the first to be commenced, and merrily indeed the men set to work. They began by clearing away the bush all round the gully where the Sea Flower lay, to the extent of forty yards, being determined to leave not a single shrub behind which a savage might conceal himself. Everything cut down was hauled to the top of the cliff and trundled into the sea. To have lit a fire and burned it would have invited the attention of the natives on that far-off island, and a visit of curiosity on their part would have ended disastrously for the shipwrecked party.
It took days to clear the bush away, and not only the men but the officers as well bore a hand and slaved away right cheerfully.
No one was left on board except Ransey Tansey himself, the nigger boy, and Janeira. Nelda insisted on going on shore with the working party, the marvellous crane flew down from the hulk, and Bob was always lowered gently over the side. These three were the superintendents, as Halcott called them; they had nothing to do but play about, it is true, but their very happiness inspired the men and made the work more easy. The other three—those left on board—had work to do, for on them devolved the duty of preparing the meals for all hands; and in this duty they never failed.
Well, the jungle was cleared at last, and this clearance, it was determined, should be extended and made double the width at least.
And now began the hard labour and toil of erecting the stockade, and in this strength was of very great importance. But it was not everything. The wooden wall must be built on scientific principles, so that a volley could be fired on an enemy attacking from any direction.
The building of this fortification, with its strong-barred gate, took our Crusoes quite a month. No one can marvel at this, if they bear in mind that the trees had to be cut down in the woods, and dragged all the way to the cliff before they could be fashioned and put into place; that the rain sometimes put a stop to work entirely, so heavy and incessant was it; and, moreover, that the men suffered a good deal from the bites of poisonous and loathsome insects, such as centipedes and scorpions. The wounds made by either of these had to be cauterised at once, else serious results would have followed.
At last the palisade and gate were finished, loopholed, and plentifully studded with sharp nails and spikes outside.
After this the little garrison breathed more freely. There was much to be done yet, however, before they could sleep in security.