Chapter Twenty One.
An Ocean Colony.
Fritz and Eric wished to go ashore the moment the anchor plunged into the water and the chain cable grated through the hawse hole; but, darkness setting in almost immediately after sunset, as is usual in such southerly latitudes, their landing had to be postponed until the next morning, when the skipper told them they would have plenty of time to inspect the little ocean colony of Tristan d’Acunha—that is, should not a westerly-wind set in, bringing with it a heavy swell, as it invariably did; for, this would cause them “to cut and run from their anchorage in a jiffy,” if they did not desire to lay the ship’s bones on the rocks by Herald Point, which he, “for one,” he said, had no intention of doing.
However, the wind still remained in the same quarter, blowing steadily from the south-east, which made it calm where the Pilot’s Bride was lying—Captain Brown from previous experience knowing the safest berth to take up—so she did not have to shift her berth. When morning broke, too, the brothers had a better view of the place than on the evening before; for then, only a hasty peep at it could be obtained before it was hidden by night.
The small bay in which the ship was moored opened to the westward; and, on the right, a slope of rough pasture land, about a quarter of a mile in width, ran up from the beach to an almost precipitous wall of rock, a thousand feet or more in height—although a sort of misty vapour hung over it, which prevented Fritz from gauging its right altitude. On the left-hand side, the wall of rock came sheer down into the sea, leaving only a few yards of narrow shingle, on which the surf noisily broke. A stream leaped down from the high ground, nearly opposite the vessel, and the low fall with which it tumbled into the bay at this point indicated that there would be found the best landing-place, an opinion which Captain Brown confirmed as soon as he came on deck.
“I guess, though,” said the skipper, pointing out a red flag which Fritz could notice just being hoisted on one of the cottage chimneys in the distance, “we needn’t hurry ’bout launchin’ a boat, fur some o’ them islanders are comin’ off to pay us a visit an’ will take you ashore. Thet’s their signal for communicatin’ with any vessel thet calls in here. Run up our ensign, Mr Dort,” he added to Eric, who stood at his station on the lee side of the mizzen mast; “an’ tell ’em to fire the gun forrud, jest to give ’em a kinder sort o’ salute, you know. Uncle Sam likes to do the civil, the same as other men-o’-war when they goes to foreign ports!”
These orders were obeyed; and no sooner were the “Stars and Stripes” run up to the masthead and the report of the little gun on the topgallant fo’c’s’le heard reverberating through the distant mountain tops—the sound of the discharge being caught up and echoed between the narrow arms of the bay—than a smart whale-boat, pulled by eight men and with a white-bearded, venerable-looking individual seated in the stern-sheets, was seen coming out from the very spot which Fritz had determined to be the landing-place.
They were soon alongside the Pilot’s Bride; when the old man—who introduced himself as Green, the oldest inhabitant of the island and with whom Captain Brown had already had an acquaintance of some years’ duration—cordially invited Fritz to land, the skipper having explained that he wished to see the place and hear all about it. He told the brothers aside, however, that perhaps they’d better not mention their intention of settling on Inaccessible Island, for the inhabitants of Tristan, who sent expeditions every year on sealing excursions there, might not like to hear this news.
While on their way to the shore with the old man and four of the islanders—the other Tristaners remaining on board the ship to select certain articles they required from her stores and arrange for the barter of fresh meat and potatoes with Captain Brown in exchange—Fritz observed that, some distance out from the land, there was a sort of natural breakwater, composed of the long, flat leaves of a giant species of seaweed which grew up from the bottom, where its roots extended to the depth of fifteen fathoms. This, old Green pointed out, prevented the rollers, when the wind was from the westward, from breaking too violently on the shore, between which and the floating weed was a belt of calm water, as undisturbed as the surface of a mountain tarn.
The landing-place was of fine black sand, showing the volcanic character of the mountain peak above, which Green said was over eight thousand feet high and had an extinct crater on the top; and, when Fritz and his brother had jumped out of the boat, they proceeded up to the little settlement of the islanders, which was called “Edinburgh” out of compliment to his Royal Highness Prince Alfred, who had visited the place when cruising in HMS Galatea, just four years before their landing.