Chapter Two.
The Tropical Island.
A Cocoa-Palm—Views of Desert Island Life.
“O had we some bright little isle of our own,
In the blue summer ocean, far-off and alone.”
Wandering along the shore, (taking care to keep in sight of Mr Frazer, under whose convoy, in virtue of his double-barrelled fowling-piece, we considered ourselves), we came to a low and narrow point, running out a little way into the sea, the extremity of which was adorned by a stately group of cocoa-nut trees.
The spot seemed ill adapted to support vegetation of so magnificent a growth, and nothing less hardy than the cocoa-palm could have derived nourishment from such a soil. Several of these fine trees stood almost at the water’s edge, springing from a bed of sand, mingled with black basaltic pebbles, and coarse fragments of shells and coral, where their roots were washed by every rising tide: yet their appearance was thrifty and flourishing, and they were thickly covered with close-packed bunches of tassel-like, straw-coloured blossoms, and loaded with fruit in various stages of growth.
Johnny cast a wistful glance at the compact clusters of nuts, nestling beneath the graceful tufts of long leaves that crowned each straight and tapering trunk; but he had so recently learned from experience, the hopelessness of undertaking to climb a cocoa-nut tree, that he was not at present disposed to renew the attempt. Max, however, who greatly valued himself upon his agility, and professed to be able to do any thing that could be done, in the way of climbing, manifested an intention to hazard his reputation by making the doubtful experiment. After looking carefully around, he selected for the attempt, a young tree near the shore, growing at a considerable inclination from the perpendicular; and clasping it firmly, he slowly commenced climbing, or rather creeping, along the slanting trunk, while Johnny watched the operation from below, with an interest as intense as if the fate of empires depended upon the result.
Max, who evidently considered his character at stake, and who climbed for “glory,” rather than for cocoa-nuts, proceeded with caution and perseverance. Once he partly lost his hold, and swung round to the under side of the trunk, but by a resolute and vigorous effort he promptly recovered his position, and finally succeeded in establishing himself quite comfortably among the enormous leaves that drooped from the top of the tree. Here he seemed disposed to rest for a while, after his arduous and triumphant exertions, and he sat, looking complacently down upon us from his elevated position, without making any attempt to secure the fruit which hung within his reach in abundant clusters.
“Hurrah!” cried Johnny, capering about and clapping his hands with glee, as soon as this much desired consummation was attained, “Now, Max, pitch down the nuts!”
Having teased Johnny, and enjoyed the impatience caused by the tantalising deliberation of his own movements, Max detached two entire clusters of nuts from the tree, which furnished us an abundant supply.
Selecting a pleasant spot beside the beach, we sat down to discuss the cocoa-nuts at our leisure, which occupied us some little time. Upon looking round, after we had finished, we discovered that our convoy had disappeared, and Johnny, whose imagination was continually haunted by visionary savages and cannibals, manifested considerable uneasiness upon finding that we were alone.
As the sun was already low in the west, and we supposed that the party engaged in getting wood had, in all probability, finished their work, we concluded to return, and to wait for Mr Frazer, and the rest of the shore party at the boats, if we should not find them already there.
As we skirted the border of the grove, on our return, Johnny every now and then cast an uneasy glance towards its darkening recesses, as though expecting to see some wild animal, or a yelling troop of tattooed islanders rush out upon us. The forest commenced about two hundred yards from the beach, from which there was a gradual ascent and was composed of a greater variety of trees than I had observed on the other islands of a similar size at which we had previously landed. Arthur called our attention to a singular and picturesque group of Tournefortias, in the midst of which, like a patriarch surrounded by his family, stood one of uncommon size, and covered with a species of fern, which gave it a striking and remarkable appearance. The group covered a little knoll, that crowned a piece of rising ground, advanced a short distance beyond the edge of the forest. It was a favourable spot for a survey of the scene around us. The sun, now hastening to his setting, was tingeing all the western ocean with a rich vermilion glow. The smooth white beach before us, upon which the long-rolling waves broke in even succession, retired in a graceful curve to the right and was broken on the left by the wooded point already mentioned.
As you looked inland, the undulating surface of the island, rising gradually from the shore, and covered with the wild and luxuriant vegetation of the tropics, delighted the eye by its beauty and variety. The noble Bread-fruit tree—its arching branches clothed with its peculiarly rich and glossy foliage; the elegantly shaped Casuarina, the luxuriant Pandanus, and the Palms, with their stately trunks, and green crests of nodding leaves, imparted to the scene a character of oriental beauty.
“Why do they call so lovely a spot as this a desert island, I wonder?” exclaimed Johnny, after gazing around him a few moments in silence.
“Did you ever hear of a desert island that wasn’t a lovely spot!” answered Max. “Why, your regular desert island should combine the richest productions of the temperate, torrid, and frigid zones—a choice selection of the fruits, flowers, vegetables, and animal; of Europe, Asia, and Africa. This would by no means come up to the average standard. I doubt if you could find upon it so much as a goat or a poll-parrot much less an ‘ónager,’ a buffalo, or a boa-constrictor, some of which at least are indispensable to a desert island of any respectability.”
“Why, then, do they call such delightful places desert islands!” repeated Johnny. “I always thought a desert was a barren wilderness, where there was nothing to be seen but sand, and rocks, and Arabs.”
“I believe they are more properly called desolate islands,” said Arthur; “and that seems proper enough; for even this island with all its beauty, is supposed to be uninhabited, and it would be a very lonely and desolate home. Would you like to live here, Johnny, like Robinson Crusoe, or the Swiss family?”
“Not all alone, like Robinson Crusoe. O no! that would be horrible; but I think we might all of us together live here beautifully a little while, if we had plenty of provisions, and plenty of arms to defend ourselves against the savages; and then of course we should want a house to live in, too.”
“Nonsense,” said Max, “what should we want of provisions?—the sea is full of fish, and the forest of birds; the trees are loaded with fruit; there are oysters and other shell-fish in the bays, and no doubt there are various roots, good for food, to be had by digging for them. As to a house, we might sleep very comfortably, in such weather as this, under these Tournefortias, and never so much as think of taking cold; or we could soon build a serviceable hut, which would be proof against sun and rain, of the trunks and boughs of trees, with a thatch of palm-leaves for a roof. Then in regard to arms, of course, if it should be our fate to set up for desert islanders, we should be well supplied in that line. I never heard of any one, from Robinson Crusoe down, being cast away on a desert island, without a good store of guns, pistols, cutlasses, etcetera, etcetera. Such a thing would be contrary to all precedent, and is not for a moment to be dreamed of.”
“But we haven’t any arms,” said Johnny, “except those old rusty cutlasses that Spot put into the yawl, and if we should be cast away, or left here, for instance, where should we get them from?”
“O, but we are not cast away yet,” replied Max. “This is the way the thing always happens. When people are cast away, it is in a ship, of course.”
“Why, yes; I suppose so,” said Johnny, rather doubtfully. “Well—the ship is always abundantly supplied with every thing necessary to a desert island life; she is driven ashore; the castaways—the future desert islanders—by dint of wonderful good fortune, get safely to land; the rest of course are all drowned, and so disposed of; then, in due time, the ship goes to pieces, and every thing needful is washed ashore and secured by the islanders—that’s the regular course of things—isn’t it, Arthur!”
“Yes, I believe it is, according to the story-books, which are the standard sources of information on the subject.”
“Or sometimes,” pursued Max, “the ship gets comfortably wedged in between two convenient rocks, (which seem to have been designed for that special purpose), so that the castaways can go out to it on a raft, or float of some kind, and carry off every thing they want—and singularly enough, although the vessel is always on the point of going to pieces, that catastrophe never takes place, until every thing which can be of any use is secured.”
“Do you suppose, Arthur,” inquired Johnny, “that there are many uninhabited islands, that have never been discovered!”
“There are believed to be a great many of them,” answered Arthur, “and it is supposed that new ones are constantly being formed by the labours of the coral insect. A bare ledge of coral first appears, just at the surface; it arrests floating substances, weeds, trees, etcetera; soon the sea-birds begin to resort there; by the decay of vegetable and animal matter a thin soil gradually covers the foundation of coral; a cocoa-nut is drifted upon it by the winds, or the currents of the sea; it takes root, springs up, its fruit ripens and falls, and in a few years the whole new-formed island is covered with waving groves.”
“Mr Frazer says he has no doubt that these seas swarm with such islands, and that many of them have never been discovered,” said Max; besides, here’s poetry for it:—
“‘O many are the beauteous isles,
Unseen by human eye,
That sleeping ’mid the Ocean smiles,
In happy silence lie.
The ship may pass them in the night,
Nor the sailors know what lovely sight
Is sleeping on the main;’
“But this poetical testimony will make Arthur doubt the fact altogether.”
“Not exactly,” answered Arthur, “though I am free to admit that without Mr Frazer’s opinion to back it your poetical testimony would not go very far with me.”
“Hark! There go Mr Frazer’s two barrels,” cried Max, as two reports in quick succession were heard, coming apparently from the grove, in the direction of the spring; “he has probably come across a couple of ‘rare specimens,’ to be added to his stuffed collection.”