CHAPTER XXVIII
The Island
With the first streaks of dawn, Peter, who had been sleeping soundly inthe open, with his feet towards the still glowing embers, shook himselflike a great mastiff, and stretched his cramped limbs. It had been astrange sensation sleeping on the hard ground after days and weeks onthe ocean. Some moments elapsed before he was fully aware of hissurroundings.
He looked seawards. The flood-tide was making, and the wavelets werelapping against the edge of the serrated reef. The boat was stillaground. Her anchor warp had not tautened, so that it was obvious thatshe had not shifted her position on the top of the previous high water.
The wind had piped down considerably, but was now blowing softly fromthe west'ard. During the night the breeze had veered completely roundfrom east to west.
"Just our luck!" thought Peter. "Now we have fetched Madagascar afterbeating for hours against it, the wind shifts round. It would havesaved us hours if it had been in this quarter for the last twenty-fourhours. However, here we are, so I mustn't grouse."
None of his companions showed signs of stirring. Silence reigned inthe tents. The scent of the morning air was mingled with the pleasingreek of the camp-fire. Farther along the coast a number of seagullswere hovering over some object and screeching, as they warily circledround the coveted piece of flotsam.
From where Peter stood, the landscape was rather limited. Less than amile to the nor'ard a bluff of about two hundred feet in height servedas the boundary of his vision in that direction. Southward the wall ofcliffs terminated abruptly at a distance of about a quarter of a mile.Evidently beyond that the coastline receded, unless the light wereinsufficient to enable the more distant land to be seen.
"May as well stretch my legs," thought Peter. "I'll have a shot atgetting to the top of the cliffs and see what's doing. I wonder howfar it is to the nearest village?"
He had to walk a hundred yards along the beach before he found a likelymeans of ascent--a narrow gorge through which a clear stream dashedrapidly. Yet the rivulet never met the sea direct. The water,although of considerable volume, simply soaked into the sand anddisappeared.
"We shan't need to go slow with the drinking-water," he said tohimself, as he gathered a double handful of the cool, sparkling fluidand held it to his lips. "By Jove, isn't that a treat after water froma boat's keg. Well, here goes."
The ascent was steep but fairly easy. Nevertheless Mostyn was so outof training, from a pedestrian point of view, that his muscles achedand his limbs grew stiff long before he arrived at the top.
At length, breathless and weary, he gained the summit and threw himselfat full length upon the grass.
After a while he stood up and looked around. The sun was justrising--and it appeared to rise out of the sea. From where he stood,Peter could see right across the ground from west to east and fromnorth to south; and, save where the tall bluff cut the skyline, sea andsky formed a complete circular horizon.
Peter gave a gasp of astonishment. Instead of finding himself, as hehad expected, upon one of the largest islands of the world, he was on asea-girt piece of land barely three miles in length and two in breadth.In vain he looked for other land. The extent of his view, assumingthat the point on which he stood was two hundred feet above thesea-level, was a distance of roughly twenty miles, and, except for theisland upon which the boat had stranded, there was nothing in sight butsky and sea.
"So much for Madagascar," ejaculated the Wireless Officer. "I'm arotten bad navigator. Wonder where this show is, and if it isinhabited."
For the most part the island consisted of a fairly level plateaucovered with scrub. The southern part was well wooded with palms,while the course of the little stream was marked by a double line ofreeds.
In vain Peter looked for signs of human habitation. Not so much as asolitary column of smoke marked the presence of any inhabitants.
"This is out of the frying-pan into the fire with a vengeance," saidthe Wireless Officer to himself. "We've plenty of fresh water, it istrue, but precious little to eat. And the boat is beyond repair withthe limited means at our disposal. Fire, did I say? We can obtainthat, so the possibility of having to eat raw or sun-dried fish isremoved."
By this time the rest of the temporary sojourners on the island wereastir. From his lofty point of vantage Peter could see the threeMohammedans at their devotions at some distance from the tents. Mrs.Shallop was actually out and about, and had deigned to fetch a balerfulof water. Miss Baird had thrown fresh driftwood and kelp on the fire,and was apparently undertaking the frying of some of the fish. Proppedup on a roll of painted canvas was Preston, slowly and steadily guttingthe herrings before grilling them in front of the fire.
"Hello, old man!" exclaimed Peter, when he rejoined the others and hadgreeted Miss Baird. "Feeling better?"
"Much thanks," replied the Acting Chief. "Soon be O.K., I hope. Andwhat have you been doing, Sparks?"
"Taking my bearings," said Mostyn. "My festive chum, I've made a hashof things. We're on an island."
"Madagascar is an island," remarked Preston. "So why make a song aboutit?"
"This isn't Madagascar," replied Peter. "It's a small island. Afellow ought to be able to walk right round it in a couple of hourscomfortably."
Preston tried to whistle and failed miserably. The attempt was stilltoo painful.
"You seem fond of putting boats ashore on small islands, old man," heremarked. "How about grub? Seen anything in the edible line?"
"A few coco-palms," announced Mostyn. "I didn't investigate. We maystrike oil."
"I'd rather strike grub," rejoined the Acting Chief. "Well, there'sone blessing--we've cigarettes."
Breakfast consisted of biscuits, fresh water, and fried fish. It wasmeagre fare, but the hungry castaways relished it. They could haveeaten more, but Peter kept an iron hand on the biscuits, and fried fishwithout biscuits was neither satisfying nor appetizing.
The meal over, Mostyn set all hands--Preston excepted, by reason of hisinjuries--to work. He meant to keep everybody employed--even Mrs.Shallop. Idleness breeds discontent and discord, and he had no wish tohave either.
The first task was to carry the tents and the small kit at theirdisposal to the high ground beyond the edge of the cliffs. Peter andthe lascars managed the spars and canvas between them, while Olive andMrs. Shallop carried up the lighter gear. Once she made up her mindthat she had to work, Mrs. Shallop became quite energetic, finding herway up the cliff-path with tolerable speed in spite of her bulk. Byten in the morning the whole of the stuff brought ashore had been takento a spot a hundred and fifty feet above the sea-level, and placed in asheltered hollow within easy distance of the little stream that Peterhad discovered.
While the two Lascars were setting up the tents, Peter and Mahmedconstructed a stretcher in order to get Preston to the new camp.
The Acting Chief was practically helpless. At first it was thoughtthat his injuries were confined to his head; but after he had beenbrought ashore his legs were found to have been crushed, and from theknees downwards the limbs were devoid of any sensation of pain, and themuscles incapable of responding to the dictates of his will.
It required twenty minutes of hard yet cautious work to carry Prestonto the top of the cliffs, in spite of the fact that the path was fairlyeasy for an unencumbered person. The difficulty was for the bearers tokeep their burden in a horizontal position, and at the same timemaintain their footing. For the greater part of the ascent Mahmed wascrouching and holding his end of the stretcher within a few inches ofthe ground, while Peter was supporting his end on his shoulders andcautiously feeling his way, since it was impossible for him to seewhere he was treading.
At length Preston was brought to the camp and placed in one of thetents, while his bearers, hot and well nigh exhausted, threw themselvesat full length in order to rest and regain their breath.
The next step was to salve the boat. This task required all a
vailablehands, for the craft was heavily built of elm.
By dint of strenuous exertions the boat was lifted clear of the jaggedcoral, and dragged along the ledge and up the sandy beach well abovehigh-water mark.
"That will do for the present," decided Mostyn. "She won't hurt there.We'll have to patch her up and resume our voyage as soon as possible."
He spoke sanguinely, but in his mind he realized that the task waspractically beyond the small resources at their command. With theexception of a small rusty hatchet, that was discovered under the floorof the after locker, a knife, and a marline-spike, there were no toolsavailable for the extensive repairs necessary to make the boat againseaworthy.
The time for the midday meal came round only too soon. Feeling like amiser compelled to disgorge his treasured hoard, Peter served out moreof his carefully husbanded biscuits. These were augmented by coconuts,which Mahmed and the lascars had obtained from some palms growing closeto the camp. Up to the present there were no indications of thepresence of bread-fruit trees, but, as Olive remarked, there was a gooddeal of the island to be explored.
"What's the time, Miss Baird, please?" inquired Preston.
The girl consulted her watch.
"Five minutes to twelve, Mr. Preston."
"Thank you," rejoined the Acting Chief, then, after a slight pause, "isyour watch fairly accurate?"
Olive shook her head.
"I never possessed a fairly accurate watch," she replied. "Mine gainsabout a minute a day, and every time I wind it I put it back a minute.It was set by ship's time on the day the _West Barbican_ sank."
"Why so anxious to know the time, old man?" inquired Mostyn. "Youhaven't to go on watch."
"Never you mind, old son," rejoined the Acting Chief. "In due courseI'll enlighten your mind on the subject, but until then--nothin' doin'."
For the next ten minutes conversation drifted into other channels.Peter had almost forgotten about the mysterious inquiries of Mr.Preston, when the latter inquired abruptly:
"What do you think is our position, Sparks?"
"About fifty miles west of Madagascar," replied Peter.
The Acting Chief shook his head.
"Wrong, my festive. Absolutely out of it," he stated with conviction."Say a hundred and fifty miles to the south'ard of Cape St.Mary--that's the southern-most point of Madagascar--and you won't befar out."
"But, why----?" began the astonished Wireless Officer.
"Hold on," continued Preston. "It's now mid-summer in the SouthernHemisphere. Consequently the sun must be overhead, or nearly so, onthe Tropic of Capricorn. Here, at midday, it's roughly five degreesnorth of our zenith. That means we're well south of the island youwere making for."
"But how's that?" demanded Mostyn. "I steered due east, and when thewind headed us I tacked for equal periods."
"Maybe you did," rejoined the Acting Chief drily. "You don't know thedeviation of the boat's compass. Neither do I, for that matter. Itmight be points out on an easterly course. Again, there's a strongcurrent setting southward through the Mozambique Channel. Another andby no means inconsiderable factor is that almost every boat whenclose-hauled sails faster on one tack than the other. The net resultis that, unconsciously, you were faced well to the south-east insteadof making due east. However, here we are, and we must make the best ofit. Everything considered, old man, you haven't done so badly."
By dusk everything was in order so far as their limited resourcespermitted, even to the extent of building a light breastwork on thewindward side of the camp to protect the tents from storms fromseaward. The strenuous labours had kept the castaways' minds so fullyoccupied that they had had no time to think about their difficulties.
Tired in body, yet cheerful in mind, they slept the sleep that only thehealthy can enjoy.