The First Mate: The Story of a Strange Cruise

by Harry Collingwood

I scarcely know how to describe it. The nearest thing to which I can compare the shape of its plan, is a Ghoorka’s khookri, or heavy knife, the point directed northward, the edge facing west, with a widening of the blade near its junction with the handle, this widening being broken into by the little harbour at the upper end of which our boat lay. The surface of the island was very irregular, and was almost completely covered with trees of various kinds, interspersed with small patches of open grass land. The island rose sheer from the sea everywhere except in one spot inside the harbour, where the grass sloped down to the water’s edge, and at another spot on the north-western shore, where, for a length of about a mile, the land sloped seaward to a strip of white beach.

The source of the rivulet which discharged into the sea appeared to be situated about three-quarters of a mile south of the spot whereon I stood; and from that point it was easy for the eye to follow its course past our cavern and down its steep, rocky course to the harbour. The whole of the ravine which it traversed lay open to my gaze, and I was now able to assure myself with full conviction that our cavern could only be approached from one direction, namely, the narrow ledge which we had traversed to reach it.

The island was to all appearance uninhabited, save by ourselves. There were no canoes on the beach to the north-west, nor any sign of smoke indicating the existence of a village; yet, if not near the harbour, that is where a village would certainly be, since it was the only place where men could possibly beach their canoes—and the idea of inhabitants of an island without canoes was unthinkable. Nevertheless, although I felt convinced that our party were the only people on the island, I determined to make my exploration complete. Accordingly, after a long, last, lingering look round me, I plunged down the northern slope of the cone, and pushed northward through the forest; arriving at the most northern extremity of the island, dead tired, about sunset.

I camped in the open that night, finding abundance of food wherewith to satisfy my hunger, but no water. This latter, however, was of trivial importance, since the fruit staved off any excessive feeling of thirst; yet it tended to confirm my conviction that there were no natives to be found in this part of the island. On the following morning I followed the western line of the cliffs until I reached the beach aforementioned, when I descended to it and most carefully examined its whole surface in search of human footprints. I found not the slightest trace of one on the entire stretch of beach; therefore, perfectly satisfied at last that we had the whole island to ourselves, I shaped a course for “home”, as I already began mentally to name the cavern, reaching it about mid-afternoon.

I found that during my absence the others had been busying themselves in a variety of ways to make our cavern comfortably habitable. Julius, for instance, had collected a quantity of stones, which he had so arranged at the mouth of the cavern that the V-shaped floor had been nicely levelled up and made smooth, so that it was now possible to pass in and out without the risk of badly spraining one’s ankles; while the women had collected enough dry fern to make comfortable beds for us all. Also, the interior of the cavern had been more carefully and systematically examined, with the result that three separate and distinct but adjoining chambers had been found, two of which would serve admirably for sleeping apartments, while a third and very lofty one had a large hole in its roof, situated apparently in the midst of a clump of trees, admitting sufficient light to make it quite pleasantly habitable as a general living and working room.

This, of course, was all very well and quite as we would have it; it was a wise and reasonable policy to make ourselves as comfortable as we could during our sojourn upon the island. But how long was that sojourn to last? That was the matter now uppermost in my thoughts. Were we to sit down and wait patiently until something should come along and take us off, or were we to take the initiative and, while availing ourselves of the hospitality of the island, contrive some means whereby, failing other help, we might effect our own rescue by making our way to some civilised spot from which it would be possible to return to our respective homes? I had been thinking a good deal of late about my poor mother in her little house at Newton Ferrers. It was now over five months since the Stella Maris had been cast away, and more than six since I had last written home; and I knew that by this time the dear soul would be fretting her heart out with anxiety on my account. I was therefore growing every day more eager and determined to find a way of deliverance, if only that the maternal anxiety might be allayed.

But what could I do? There was the boat, certainly; but after our recent dreadful experiences in her I knew that nothing would induce Mrs Vansittart to undertake another boat voyage. She had already said so with much emphasis, and the others had echoed her resolution; and, indeed, I could not blame them. A single experience of that kind was quite enough for a lifetime. Had we possessed a sail, matters might have been different, for despite the queer model of our craft she had proved to be an excellent sea boat, quite as good, indeed, as a boat of the usual shape; but to be at sea in her without a sail was to be simply at the mercy of wind and wave. I racked my brains to distraction in the effort to evolve some practicable plan for obtaining a sail, even going to the length of endeavouring to weave one of grass; but it was no good, for as soon as the grass dried it became so tender and brittle that it would never have borne the pressure of even a very moderate breeze, much less a gale.

About a month later, when after numerous experiments I had found myself obliged to abandon all hope in that direction, chance—or rather, investigation in another direction—revived my hopes, and I began to believe that I could see my way.

It was about two months from the time when we were driven out of the wreck and compelled to commit ourselves and our fortunes to the mercy of the open sea, and by this time our clothing had become so dilapidated that the necessity for something to replace it was growing urgent. Therefore, while I busied myself daily upon the task of conveying combustible material to the summit of the Peak—as we had named the highest point on the island—that we might be able to kindle a fire and raise a big smoke in the event of a sail heaving in sight, and while Julius undertook to find a daily supply of food for the party, the women explored the island in search of some material that might be converted into clothing.

By the merest accident they at length found what they believed might serve. It was the inner bark of a certain tree, and consisted of long white threads or filaments which, after being steeped in water for some time, could be separated from each other, and which proved to be so exceedingly tough that we were able to make excellent fishing lines of them, and so secure a most welcome addition to our daily diet. The threads were rather coarse, but we believed that they might be worked up into a kind of sheeting which, while perhaps rather stiff and uncomfortable when fashioned into garments, would make a very good sail; and I devoted every moment of my spare time to the gathering and preparation of the stuff, my idea being that after I had made a suit of sails for the boat, if the others still refused to undertake a second boat voyage, they might agree to my going away alone in search of help.