THE DISTANT SMOKE!
The next morning about six o'clock, at low tide, the points of a few rocks which had not been visible the day before were exposed round the edge of the creek. It was ascertained, however, that even at lowest ebb practicable passages remained forty to fifty fathoms in width. This meant that the Montrose river was navigable at all stages of the tide. The depth of water near the rocks where the Elizabeth was moored was so great that she was still floating five or six feet above the sandy bottom.
About seven o'clock ripples were breaking along the rocks, forerunners of the flood tide, and the pinnace would soon have swung round upon her anchor if she had not been held by the hawser aft.
Mr. Wolston and Ernest, who had been ashore since daybreak, came back at this moment, after inspecting the condition of the creek lower down. They merely had to jump on deck to rejoin M. and Mme. Zermatt and Mrs. Wolston and her daughter. Jack had gone out hunting with his two dogs, and was still absent. A few gunshots notified his presence in the neighbourhood and suggested his success in his sport. It was not long before he put in an appearance, with his game-bag bulging with a brace of partridges and half-a-dozen quails.
"I have not wasted my time or my powder," he remarked as he flung the brilliant-plumaged game down in the bows.
"Our congratulations," his father replied; "and now do not let us waste any more of the flood tide. Cast off the hawser and jump aboard."
Jack obeyed, and leaped onto the deck with his dogs. The anchor being apeak already, it was only necessary to trice it up to the cathead. The pinnace was immediately caught by the tide, and, driven by a light breeze blowing in from the sea, she entered the mouth of the Montrose river. Then with the wind behind her she began to ascend it, keeping to the middle of the channel.
The breadth of the stream from one bank to the other was not less than two hundred and fifty or three hundred feet. There was no indication of its narrowing, as far as the eye could see the banks ahead. On the right hand still ran the escarpment of the cliff, gradually diminishing in height while the ground rose in a barely perceptible slope. On the left, over the rather low bank, the eye travelled over plains broken by woods and clumps of trees, the tops of which were turning yellow at this season of the year.
After half an hour's good travelling, the Elizabeth reached the first bend of the Montrose, which, making a loop of about thirty degrees, now wound towards the south-west.
Beyond this bend the banks were not more than ten or twelve feet high—the height of the highest tides. This was proved by the layers of grass deposited among the tangled reeds, sharp-edged like bayonets. Inasmuch as on this date, the 19th of March, the equinoctial tides attained their maximum height, the conclusion was that the bed of the river was deep enough to contain all the sum of its waters, and that it never overflowed the surrounding country.
The pinnace was moving at from eight to ten knots an hour, which meant that she might expect to cover somewhere near twenty miles during the time the flood tide lasted.
Ernest had taken note of her speed and remarked:
"That is more or less the distance at which we have calculated the mountains rise in the south."
"Quite so," Mr. Wolston replied; "and if the river washes the foot of the range we shall have no difficulty in reaching it. In that case we need not postpone our projected trip for three or four months."
"Still, it would take more time than we can spare now," M. Zermatt answered. "Even if the Montrose did take us to the foot of the range we should not have reached our goal. We should still have to ascend to the summit, and in all probability that would involve much time and trouble."
"Besides," Ernest added, "when we have ascertained whether the river continues its course towards the south-west, we have yet to learn whether the stream is broken by rapids or barred by any obstacles we cannot pass."
"We shall soon see," M. Zermatt replied. "Let us go on while the flood tide carries us, and we will make up our minds on the other point in a few hours' time."
Beyond the bend the two banks were much less steep, and enabled a wide view to be obtained of the region traversed by the Montrose.
Game of every kind swarmed in the grass and among the reeds along the banks; bustards, grouse, partridges and quails. If Jack had sent his dogs foraging along the banks and in the adjacent country, they could not have gone fifty yards without putting up rabbits, hares, agoutis, peccaries, and water-cavies. In this respect this district equalled that round Falconhurst, and the farmsteads—even in regard to the monkey tribe, which capered from tree to tree. A little way off, herds of antelope raced by, of the same species as that which was penned on Shark's Island. Herds of buffalo, too, were seen in more than one spot in the direction of the range, and sometimes distant glimpses were caught of herds of ostriches, half running, half flying as they sped away. On this occasion, M. Zermatt and his two sons did not mistake them for Arabs, as they had mistaken the first ostriches they saw from the heights above the hermitage at Eberfurt.
Jack was impatient at being pinned to the Elizabeth's deck and unable to jump ashore, at having to watch all these birds and animals going by without being able to speed them with a shot. Yet there would have been no good in bringing down any of the game, since it was not required.
"We are not hunters to-day," his father reminded him; "we are explorers, and, more particularly, geographers on a mission in this part of New Switzerland."
The young Nimrod did not see the matter in that light, and made up his mind to beat the country with his dogs as soon as the pinnace reached her first anchorage. He would further the cause of geography in his own fashion; that is, he would survey partridges and hares instead of the points of the compass. This last was the job for the learned Ernest who was so anxious to add to his map the new territory that lay to the south of the Promised Land.
Of carnivorous animals and of those wild beasts which, as has been said, were so numerous in the woods and plains at the end of Pearl Bay and at the entrance to the Green Valley, not a trace was seen along the banks of the Montrose during the course of this voyage. By great good fortune no lions or tigers, panthers or leopards, showed themselves. Jackals could be heard, indeed, howling in the outskirts of the nearest woods. The conclusion was that these beasts, which belong to a subgenus of the Canidæ family, between the wolf and the fox, constituted the majority of the fauna of the island.
It would be an oversight not to make mention of the many waterfowl seen, duck, teal, and snipe, which flew from one bank to another or took cover among the reeds. Jack would never willingly have thrown away such opportunities of exercising his skill. So he fired a few successful shots, and no one found fault with him for doing so, unless, perhaps, it was Hannah, who always begged quarter for these inoffensive creatures.
"Inoffensive, perhaps, but excellent—when they are cooked to a turn!" Jack retorted.
And it really was matter for congratulation that at luncheon and dinner the bill of fare was supplemented by the wild fowl which Fawn retrieved from the stream of the Montrose.
It was a little after eleven o'clock that the Elizabeth reached a second bend in the river which turned further to the west, according to Ernest's expectation. From its general direction it could be deduced with sufficient certainty that it came down from the range, still some fifteen miles or more away, from which it was manifestly fed largely.
"It is annoying that the tide has almost finished running," said Ernest, "and that we cannot go any farther."
"Really annoying," M. Zermatt replied, "but it is slack now, and the ebb will be perceptible quite soon. Well, as this is the season of the highest tides, it is clear that the flood tide never reaches much beyond this bend of the Montrose."
"Nothing could be clearer," Mr. Wolston agreed. "So now we must decide whether we shall moor here or whether we shall take advantage of the ebb to go back to the creek, which the pinnace could reach in less than two hours."
The spot was charming, and every one was much tempted to spend the day there. The left bank formed a tiny cove, into which a little tributary of fresh and running water fell. Above it bent some mighty trees, with dense foliage, in which myriad chirpings and rustlings of wings were heard. It was a clump of enormous Indian fig-trees, almost identical with the mangrove-trees at Falconhurst. Behind this were groups of evergreen oaks, through whose shade the sun's rays could not pierce. Right at the back, under the dome of guava trees and cinnamons, down the whole length of the tributary stream, a fresh breeze stole, swaying the lower branches like so many fans.
"What a perfectly delightful spot!" Mme. Zermatt exclaimed. "Expressly designed to be the site of a villa! A pity it is so far from Rock Castle!"
"Yes: much too far, my dear," M. Zermatt replied. "But the site will not be wasted, you may be quite sure, and we must not take everything for ourselves. Would you leave nothing for our future fellow-citizens?"
"You may be quite sure, Betsy," Mrs. Wolston said, "that this part of the island, watered by the Montrose river, will be much sought after by new colonists."
"Meanwhile," said Jack, "I vote we camp here until evening, and even till to-morrow morning."
"That is what we have to decide," M. Zermatt declared. "We must not forget that the ebb can take us back to the creek in a couple of hours, and that we should be back at Rock Castle by to-morrow evening."
"What do you think about it, Hannah?" Ernest asked.
"Let your father decide," the girl answered. "But I quite agree that this spot is delightful, and it would be pleasant to stay in it for one afternoon."
"Besides," Ernest continued, "I should like to take a few more bearings."
"And we should like to take a little nourishment," Jack exclaimed. "Let us have lunch! Of your pity, let us have lunch!"
It was agreed that they should spend the afternoon and evening in this loop of the Montrose. Then, at the next ebb tide, about one o'clock in the morning, when the night was clear—there would be a full moon—the pinnace would go down the river without the least risk. After leaving the creek she would either go to Unicorn Bay and anchor there, or would round Cape East and make Rock Castle, as the state of the sea and the direction of the wind might dictate.
As soon as the pinnace was made fast by her bows to the foot of a tree, her stern immediately swung round down stream, clear proof that the ebb tide was beginning to run.
After luncheon Mme. Zermatt, Mrs. Wolston, and Hannah agreed to settle themselves down in the encampment while the exploration of the surrounding country was effected. It really was important to make a more complete survey of this region. So it was arranged that M. Zermatt and Jack should go and hunt along the little tributary, remaining comparatively close to its mouth, and that Mr. Wolston and Ernest should take the canoe and go as far up the river as they could, to return in time for dinner.
The canoe, paddled by Mr. Wolston and Ernest, set off up river, while M. Zermatt and Jack went along the bank of the winding streamlet which ran down from the north.
Beyond this loop the Montrose bent towards the south-west. The canoe kept on its way along banks bordered by leafy forest trees and rendered almost inaccessible by tangled grasses and interlaced reeds. It would have been impossible to effect a landing there, and it was not necessary. The important thing was to ascertain the general direction of the river by ascending it as far as possible. Moreover, the field of vision was soon enlarged. A mile or so further up, the forest mass grew less dense. Further on again, broad plains succeeded, deformed with rocky excrescences, which appeared to reach unbroken right to the foot of the mountains.
The surface of the Montrose river shone like a mirror. There was good reason to regret leaving the shadow of the trees which bordered it lower down. Moreover, in the midst of a broiling atmosphere, where there was now scarcely a breath of air, paddling was really hard work. Fortunately, the force of the stream was not increased by the tide running down, for the flood did not reach beyond the last loop or elbow. They only had to contend with the normal flow of the river. The waters were low now. Matters would be different in a few weeks' time, during the rainy season, when the mountain range would send down its contribution through the natural issue of the Montrose.
In spite of the heat, Mr. Wolston and Ernest paddled along energetically. Among the fantastic bluffs of the river, behind the points, there were occasional backwaters which they chose to take, so as to economise their labour.
"It is not impossible," said Mr. Wolston, "that we might reach the foot of the range in which the Montrose must have its source."
"So you cling to your idea, sir?" Ernest replied, shaking his head.
"Yes, I do, and it is most devoutly to be wished it may be so, my dear boy. You will never know your island thoroughly until you have surveyed its entire extent from the top of those mountains, which, I may further remark, do not appear to be very lofty."
"I estimate their height at from twelve to fifteen hundred feet, Mr. Wolston, and I agree with you that from the top of them it will be possible to see all over New Switzerland, unless it is much larger than we suppose. What is there beyond that range? The only reason why we do not know already is that during these past twelve years we have never felt pinched for room in the Promised Land."
"Quite so, my dear boy," Mr. Wolston replied; "but it is a matter of real concern now to ascertain the actual size and importance of an island which is destined to be colonised."
"That will be done, sir, next dry season, and before the Unicorn comes back, you may be quite sure. To-day, however, I think it will be wisest to limit ourselves to just these few hours' exploring; that will be enough to enable us to ascertain the general course of the river."
"Yet with a little perseverance, Ernest, we might perhaps be able to reach the range, and climb its northern slope."
"Provided the climb is not too steep, sir."
"Oh, well, with a good pair of legs——"
"You ought to have brought Jack instead of me," said Ernest with a smile. "He would not have gainsaid you; he would have urged you to push on as far as the mountains, even if you could not have got back before to-morrow or the day after; and a nice state of anxiety we should all have been in, during your long delay!"
"Well, yes, you are quite right, my dear boy," Mr. Wolston admitted. "We must keep our promise since we have given it. One more hour's going, and then our canoe shall return with the stream. No matter! I shall not rest until we have planted the flag of old England on the highest peak of New Switzerland!"
Mr. Wolston's ambition, so warmly declared, was that of a good Englishman, at a time when Great Britain was sending her sailors over all the seas in the wide world to extend her colonial possessions. But he saw that it would be better to defer taking possession of the island until later, and he refrained from pressing the matter further now.
They went on their way in the canoe. The further they penetrated towards the south-west, the more open, treeless, and sterile the country became. The grass lands were succeeded by barren tracts strewn with stones. Hardly any birds flew over this naked area. There was no sign of animal life except the howling of packs of jackals, which kept out of sight.
"Jack was well advised not to come with us this time," Ernest remarked.
"Yes, indeed," Mr. Wolston answered; "he would not have had the chance for a single shot. He will have much better luck in the forest land that is watered by the little tributary of the Montrose."
"Anyhow, what we bring back as the result of our trip is the information that this part of the island is like the part above Unicorn Bay," said Ernest. "Who can say whether it is not much the same on the other side of the range? Most likely the fertile part of the island is the north and the middle only, between Pearl Bay and the Green Valley."
"So when we set out on our big excursion," Mr. Wolston replied, "I think it will be best to march straight south instead of going all round the coast to the east or west."
"I think so, too, sir, and the best way to get into the country will be through the defile of Cluse."
It was now nearly four o'clock. The canoe was five or six miles above the encampment when a sound of roaring waters became audible from higher up the stream. Was it a mountain stream rushing into the bed of Montrose? Or was it the Montrose itself, forming rapids there? Did some dam of rocks render it unnavigable in the upper reaches?
Mr. Wolston and Ernest, stationary at the moment in a back water under the shelter of a bluff, were just preparing to turn back. As the bank was too steep for them to see above it Mr. Wolston said:
"Let us take a few strokes more and turn the point."
"Certainly," said Ernest; "it looks as if the Montrose will not help a boat to get up to the foot of the mountains."
Mr. Wolston and Ernest began to paddle again with what strength they had left after their four hours' toil under a burning sun.
The river here made a bend towards the south-west, which was manifestly its general direction. A few moments later, some hundred yards further up, a much longer reach came into view. It was dammed by a heap of rocks scattered from one bank to the other, with only narrow breaks between, through which the water poured in noisy falls that spread commotion fifty yards below.
"That would have stopped us if we had meant to go on," Ernest remarked.
"It might have been possible to carry the canoe beyond the dam," Mr. Wolston answered.
"If it is nothing more than a dam, sir."
"We will find out, my dear boy, for it is really important to know. Let us get ashore."
On the left hand there was a narrow gorge, quite dry at this season, which wound away across the upland. In a few weeks' time, no doubt, when the rainy season began, it would serve as the bed of a torrent whose roaring waters would join those of the Montrose.
Mr. Wolston drove the boat-hook into the ground; and he and Ernest stepped onto the bank, up which they went so as to approach the dam from the side.
It took them about a quarter of an hour to cover the intervening distance, the path being strewn with stones loosely held in the sand by coarse clumps of grass.
Scattered here and there, too, were pebbles of a brownish tint, with rounded corners, very like shingle, and about the size of nuts.
When Mr. Wolston and Ernest reached the dam they discovered that the Montrose was unnavigable for a good mile and a half. Its bed was obstructed with rocks among which the water boiled, and the portage of a canoe up stream would be a very laborious business.
The country appeared to be absolutely barren right up to the foot of the range. For any trace of verdure it was necessary to look towards the north-west and north, in the direction of the Green Valley, the distant forests of which could just be seen on the boundary of the Promised Land.
So there was nothing for it but to retrace their steps, and this Mr. Wolston and Ernest did, greatly regretting that the Montrose was blocked in this portion of its course.
As they went along the winding gorge Ernest picked up a few of the brownish pebbles, which were heavier than their size seemed to warrant. He put a couple of the little stones in his pocket with the intention of examining them when he got back to Rock Castle.
It was with a good deal of vexation that Mr. Wolston turned his back on the south-western horizon. But the sun was getting low, and it would not have done to be belated so far from the encampment. So the canoe took to the stream once more, and, driven along by the paddles, made good speed down the river.
At six o'clock the whole party was gathered together again at the foot of the clump of evergreen oaks. M. Zermatt and Jack were well satisfied with their sport, and had brought back an antelope, a brace of rabbits, an agouti, and several birds of various kinds.
The little tributary of the Montrose watered a very fertile tract of country, sometimes crossing plains which were admirably suitable for raising grain, sometimes running through dense woods. There were also game districts where the sound of the sportsman's gun had almost certainly just been heard for the first time.
A good dinner was waiting for the men after their excursion. It was served under the shadow of the trees, on the bank of the stream, whose running waters murmured over their sandy bed, sprinkled with aquatic plants.
At nine o'clock all went to their berths aboard the Elizabeth to sleep well and soundly.
It had been settled that the pinnace should make a start at the beginning of the ebb, that is to say about one o'clock in the morning, so as to get the full advantage of the tide running out. Thus the time for sleep was limited. But this could be made up for the following night, either at Unicorn Bay, if they were in there, or at Rock Castle if the Elizabeth arrived there within the twenty-four hours.
In spite of the remonstrances of his sons and of Mr. Wolston, M. Zermatt had decided to remain on deck, undertaking to awaken them at the time arranged. It was necessary never wholly to relax caution. At night wild beasts, unseen by day, leave their lairs, drawn to the water-courses by thirst.
At one o'clock M. Zermatt called Mr. Wolston, Ernest, and Jack. The first rippling of the ebb was just becoming audible. A light breeze blew off the land. The sails were hoisted, hauled aboard, and gathered, and the pinnace yielded to the two-fold action of the stream and wind.
The night was very clear, the sky strewn with stars like snowflakes hung in space. The moon, almost full, was sinking slowly down towards the northern horizon.
Nothing occurred to disturb this night voyage, although some hippopotami were heard grunting, when half the journey was done. It will be remembered from Fritz's narrative of his trip on the Eastern River, that these amphibian monsters were already known to be in occupation of the water-courses of the island.
As the weather was splendid and the sea calm, it was agreed that the pinnace should make use at once of the morning breeze which was just rising out at sea. M. Zermatt was glad to think that they might get back to Rock Castle in about fifteen hours, that is to say before nightfall.
In order to take the shortest route and make Cape East in a straight line, the Elizabeth was sailed a mile or more away out to sea. Her passengers were then able to get a more complete view of the coast for fully fifteen miles in a southerly direction.
M. Zermatt ordered the sheets to be hauled in, so as to work to windward, and the pinnace shaped her course for Cape East on the starboard tack.
Just at this moment Mr. Wolston, who was standing in the bows, raised his spyglass to his eyes. He wiped its glass and scrutinised one of the points of the coast with extreme attention.
Several times in succession he raised and then lowered the instrument, and everyone was struck by the interest with which he scanned the horizon to the south-east.
M. Zermatt handed over the tiller to Jack, and came forward with the intention of questioning Mr. Wolston, who removed the telescope from his eye and said:
"No; I am mistaken."
"What are you mistaken about, Wolston?" M. Zermatt enquired. "What did you think you saw over there?"
"Smoke."
"Smoke?" echoed Ernest, who had come up, disturbed by the reply.
For the smoke could only come from some camp pitched on that part of the shore. And that theory involved some disturbing questions. Was the island inhabited by savages? Had they come from the Australian shore in their canoes and landed, and would they attempt to penetrate into the interior? The inhabitants of Rock Castle would be in considerable danger if such people ever set foot within the Promised Land.
"Where did you see the smoke?" M. Zermatt asked sharply.
"There—above the last point that projects from the shore on this side."
And Mr. Wolston pointed to the extreme end of the land, twelve miles or so away, which beyond that point turned off to the south-west and was lost to sight.
M. Zermatt and Ernest, one after the other, examined the indicated spot with the utmost care.
"Nothing at all," Ernest added.
Mr. Wolston watched for a few minutes more with the closest attention.
"No; I cannot distinguish the smoke now," he said. "It must have been some light greyish vapour—a little cloud lying very low, perhaps, which has just melted away."
The answer was reassuring. Yet as long as the point was within sight M. Zermatt and his companions never took their eyes off it. But they saw nothing which could cause them any uneasiness.
The Elizabeth, under full sail, was moving rapidly over a rather choppy sea, which did not check her way. At one o'clock in the afternoon she was off Unicorn Bay, which was left a couple of miles to larboard; then, approaching nearer to the coast, she made in a straight line towards Cape East.
The cape was rounded at four o'clock and as the flood tide was setting to the west of Deliverance Bay, an hour would suffice to cover that distance. Rounding Shark's Island, the Elizabeth made at full speed towards Jackal River, and thirty-five minutes later her passengers set foot on the beach at Rock Castle.