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 northwest 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.
CHAPTER XI - IN THE SEASON OF RAINS
FOUR days and a half had been the length of its inhabitants' absence from Rock Castle. It might have been as long again without the domestic animals suffering thereby, as their sheds had been provisioned for a long period. Mr. Wolston would then have had time to carry his exploration to the foot of the range, to which he was comparatively close when at the dam across the river. Very probably too, he would have suggested to M. Zermatt that they should stay three or four days longer at the anchorage up the Montrose, if there had been no obstacle in the way of the canoe going up the course of the river.
But the voyage of exploration had not been without results. The pinnace had been able to reconnoitre the eastern coast for a distance of some twenty-five miles from Cape East. This, with the addition of an equal extent of littoral visited in the north as far as Pearl Bay, was the sum of what was known of the contour of the island. With respect to its perimeter on the west and south, the aspect it presented and the districts it bounded, whether barren or fertile, the two families could have no certain knowledge without making a voyage all round the island, unless indeed the ascent of the mountains should enable a view to be obtained of the whole of New Switzerland.
There was, of cour
se, the probability that the Unicorn had made a survey of its dimensions and its shape when she resumed her voyage. And so, in the event of the expedition planned by Mr. Wolston not resulting in a complete discovery of the island, they would only have to wait for the return of the English corvette to know all about it.
Meantime, and for the next seven or eight weeks, every hour would be fully occupied with the work of haymaking and harvesting, threshing, grape-gathering, and getting in the crops. No one would be able to take a single day off if they were to get all the farms in order before the broken weather, which constituted the winter in this latitude of the southern hemisphere.
So every one set to work, and, as a beginning, the two families moved to Falconhurst. By this removal they put themselves within easy reach of Wood Grange, Sugar-cane Grove, and Prospect Hill. The summer dwelling was lacking in neither space nor comfort, for new rooms had been built among the gigantic roots of the mangrove, and there was also, of course, the upper storey in the air which the surrounding foliage rendered so delightful. At the foot of the tree a large yard was provided for the animals, with sheds and out-houses, surrounded by an impenetrable hedge of bamboo and thorny shrubs.