The Castaways of the Flag (14 page)

           
So the
necessity of getting to the top of the cliff by some other means became more
imperative than ever.

           
"How are
we to do it?" said Fritz one day, gazing irritably at the inaccessible
crest.

           
"You
can't get out of a prison when its walls are a thousand feet high," was
James's answer.

           
"Unless
you tunnel through them," Fritz replied.

           
"Tunnel
through that mass of granite— which is probably thicker than it is high?"
said James.

           
"Anyhow,
we can't remain in this prison!
"
exclaimed
Fritz, in a burst of impotent but uncontrollable anger.

           
"Be
patient, and have confidence," said Frank again.

           
"Patience
I can have," Fritz retorted, "but confidence—that is another
thing."

           
And indeed on
what might confidence be placed? Rescue could only come from a ship passing
beyond the bay. And if one came, would it see their signals, the lighting of a
huge fire on the beach or on the end of the promontory?

           
A fortnight
had passed since the boat came to land. Several more weeks passed without
bringing any change in the situation. As to the food supplies, they were
reduced to turtles and their eggs, and to crustaceans, crabs and lobsters, some
of which John Block was generally able to catch. It was he who usually occupied
himself with the fishing, assisted by Frank. Lines with bent nails for hooks
taken from the boat's planks, had rendered possible the capture of various
kinds of fish: dorado twelve to fifteen inches long, of a beautiful reddish
colour and excellent eating, and bass, or salt-water perch. Once even, a large
sturgeon was caught with a slip-knot which landed it on the sand.

           
The dog-fish,
plentiful in these waters, were poor eating. But there was obtained from them a
grease used to make coarse candles, for which wicks were fashioned out of dry
seaweed. Disturbing as the prospect of wintering here might be, thought had to
be given to it, and precautions taken against the long and dark days of the
rainy season.

           
The salmon,
which used to go up Jackal River in New Switzerland in such numbers at certain
times of the year, were not forthcoming here. But one day a school of herrings
stranded at the mouth of the little stream. Several hundreds of them were
taken, and, smoked over a fire of dry sea-weed, made an important reserve of
food.

           
"Isn't
there a saying that herrings bring their own butter?" John Block enquired.
"Well, if so, here are some already cooked, and what I want to know is
what we shall do with all these good things!"

           
Several times
during these six weeks attempts had been made to climb to the top of the cliff.
As all these attempts were fruitless, Fritz determined to go round the bluff to
the east. But he was careful to say nothing of his intention to anyone except
John Block. So, on the morning of the 7th of December, the two men went to the
creek, under the pretence of collecting turtles at its eastern point.

           
There, at the
foot of the enormous mass of rock, the sea was breaking savagely, and to get
round it Fritz must risk his life.

           
The boatswain
vainly did his best to induce him to desist from the idea, and, failing, had no
choice but to help him.

           
After undressing,
Fritz fastened a long line around his loins—one of the boat's yard-ropes —gave
the other end to John Block, and jumped into the sea.

           
The risk was
twofold—of being caught by the surf and thrown against the base of the bluff,
and of being carried away by the current if the line should break.

           
Twice did
Fritz try without success to get free of the waves. It was only at the third
attempt that he succeeded in reaching and maintaining a position in which he
could look beyond the bluff, and then John Block was obliged to pull him in
again to the point—not without a good deal of trouble.

           
"Well,"
the boatswain enquired, "what is there beyond?"

           
"Nothing
but rocks and more rocks!" Fritz answered as soon as he had recovered his
wind. "I only saw a succession of creeks and capes. The cliff goes right
on to the northward."

           
"I'm not
surprised," John Block replied.

           
When the
result of this attempt was made known—one can imagine Jenny's emotions when she
heard of it—it seemed as if the last hope had vanished. This island, from which
Captain Gould and his boat's company could not escape, was apparently nothing
better than an uninhabited and uninhabitable rock!

           
And this
unhappy situation was complicated by so many bitter regrets! But for the
mutiny, the passengers on the
Flag
would have reached the fertile domain
of the Promised Land a couple of months ago. Think of the anguish of all those
who were expecting them and watched in vain for their coming!

           
Truly these
relations and friends of theirs were more to be pitied than Captain Gould and
his company. At any rate, the forlorn company knew that their dear ones were
safe in New Switzerland.

           
Thus the
future loomed heavy with anxiety, and the present was hard.

           
A new reason
for alarm would have been added if all had known what only Captain Gould and
the boatswain knew—that the number of turtles was decreasing perceptibly, in
consequence of their daily consumption!

           
"But
perhaps," John Block suggested, "it is because the creatures know of
some passage underground through which they can get to the creeks to the east
and west; it is a pity we can't follow them."

           
"Anyhow,
Block," Captain Gould replied, "don't say a word to our
friends."

           
"Keep
your mind easy, captain. I told you because one can tell you everything.''

           
"And
ought to tell me everything, Block!"

           
Thereafter
the boatswain was obliged to fish more assiduously, for the sea would never
withhold what the land would soon deny. Of course, if they lived exclusively on
fish and molluscs and crustaceans, the general health would suffer. And if
illness broke out, that would be the last straw.

           
The last week
of December came. The weather was still fine, except for a few thunderstorms,
not so violent as the first one. The heat, sometimes excessive, would have been
almost intolerable but for the great shadow thrown over the shore by the cliff,
which sheltered it from the sun as it traced its daily arc above the northern
horizon.

           
At this
season numbers of birds thronged these waters—not only sea-gulls and divers,
sea-mew and frigate birds, which were the usual dwellers on the shore. From
time to time flocks of cranes and herons passed, reminding Fritz of his
excellent sport round Swan Lake and about the farms in the Promised Land. On
the top of the bluff, too, cormorants appeared, like Jenny's bird, now in the
poultry-run at Rock Castle, and albatrosses like the one she had sent with her
message from the Burning Rock.

           
These birds
kept out of range. When they settled on the promontory it was useless to
attempt to get near them, and they flew at full speed above the inaccessible
crest of the cliff.

           
One day all
the others were called to the beach by a shout from the boatswain.

           
"Look
there! Look there!" he continued to cry, pointing to the edge of the upper
plateau.

           
"What is
it?" Fritz demanded.

           
"Can't
you see that row of black specks?" John Block returned.

           
"They
are penguins," Frank replied.

           
"Yes,
they are penguins," Captain Gould declared; "they look no bigger than
crows, but that is because they are perched so high up."

           
"Well,"
said Fritz, "if those birds have been able to get up on to the plateau, it
means that on the other side of the cliff the ascent is practicable."

           
That seemed
certain, for penguins are clumsy, heavy birds, with rudimentary stumps instead
of wings. They could not have flown up to the crest. So if the ascent could not
be made on the south, it could be on the north. But from lack of a boat in
which to go along the shore this hope of reaching the top of the cliff had to
be abandoned.

           
Sad, terribly
sad, was the Christmas of this most gloomy year! Full of bitterness was the
thought of what Christmas might have been in the large hall of Rock Castle, in
the midst of the two families, with Captain Gould and John Block.

           
Yet, in spite
of all these trials, the health of the little company was not as yet affected.
On the boatswain hardship had no more effect than disappointment.

           
"I am
getting fat," he often said; "yes, I am getting fat! That's what
comes of spending one's time doing nothing!"

           
Doing
nothing, alas! Unhappily, in the present situation, there was practically
nothing to do!

           
In the
afternoon of the 29th something happened which recalled memories of happier
days.

           
A bird
settled on a part of the promontory which was not inaccessible.

           
It was an
albatross, which had probably come a long way, and seemed to be very tired. It
lay out on a rock, its legs stretched, its wings folded.

           
Fritz
determined to try to capture this bird. He was clever with the lasso, and he
thought he might succeed if he made a running noose with one of the boat's
halyards.

           
A long line
was prepared by the boatswain, and Fritz climbed up the promontory as softly as
possible.

           
Everybody
watched him.

           
The bird did
not move and Fritz, getting within a few fathoms of it, cast his lasso round
its body.

           
The bird made
hardly any attempt to get free when Fritz, who had picked it up in his arms,
brought it down to the beach.

           
Jenny could
not restrain a cry of astonishment.

           
"It is!
It is!" she exclaimed, caressing the bird. '' I am sure I recognise him!''

           
"What?"
Fritz exclaimed; "you mean –"

           
"Yes,
Fritz, yes! It really is my albatross; my companion on Burning Rock; the one to
which I tied the note that fell into your hands.''

           
Could it be?
Was not Jenny mistaken? After three whole years, could that same albatross,
which had never returned to the island, have flown to this coast?

           
But Jenny was
not mistaken, and all were made quite sure about it when she showed them a
little bit of thread still fastened round one of the bird's claws. Of the scrap
of cloth on which Fritz had traced his few words of reply, nothing now
remained.