by Jules Verne
But the night seemed interminable. It seemed as though the dawn would never come to dissipate these horrors. If they could only take some note of the time by consulting their watch. But it was impossible to light a match, even under the wraps. Cross tried to do so, but had to give it up.
Then Wilcox hit upon another plan for finding out the time. It took twelve turns of the key to wind his watch up every twenty-four hours. As he had wound it up at eight o’clock in the evening, he had only to count the number of turns to ascertain the hours that had elapsed.
This is what he did, and having only four turns to make, he concluded that eight hours had gone by, and that it was now four o’clock in the morning. The day would soon break.
And soon afterwards the first streaks of the dawn appeared in the east. The storm continued, and as the clouds were low over the sea, rain was to be feared before they could get back to Bear Rock Harbour.
But before they started they had to perform the last duty towards the shipwrecked men. As soon as the early morning light had penetrated the thick morning mists in the offing they went out on the beach, struggling not without difficulty against the blasts of the storm. Often they had to hold each other up to save themselves from being blown over. The boat had been left near a low ridge of sand, and they could see by the line of weed that the tide had risen and passed it.
But the two bodies were no longer there.
Donagan and Wilcox went some twenty yards on to the sand.
Nothing! Not even a trace of them had been left by the tide.
‘Poor fellows!’ said Wilcox, ‘were they then alive, that they have gone away?’
‘Where are they?’ asked Cross.
‘Where are they?’ answered Donagan, pointing to the sea, which was rolling in angrily. ‘There, where the outgoing tide has taken them.’
Donagan crept along to the ridge of rocks, and swept his glass over the waves. Not a corpse did he see!
He rejoined his companions, who had remained near the boat.
Perhaps a survivor of the catastrophe would be found inside her.
The boat was empty.
She was the long-boat of some merchantman, decked forward, and about thirty feet on the keel. She was no longer seaworthy; her starboard side had been stove in below the water-line when she was cast on the beach. A stump of the mast broken off at the step, a few tatters of sail caught on to the cleats at the gunwale, and a few ropes’ ends were all that remained of her rigging. Provisions, utensils, weapons, there were none either in the lockers or in the little cabin in the bow.
On the stern two names showed the ship to which she belonged, and the port of register: —
Severn—San Francisco.
San Francisco! One of the ports of the Californian coast! The ship was American.
And it was the sea that bounded the horizon.
CHAPTER VII—THE INVASION.
THE circumstances under which Donagan and his companions quitted French Den will not have been forgotten. Since his departure the life of the young colonists had been of the saddest. With deep regret they had seen the separation which might have such fatal consequences in the future.
Assuredly Briant had nothing to reproach himself with, and yet he felt the separation more than the others, probably on account of his being its cause.
In vain Gordon tried to console him.
‘They will come back, Briant, and much sooner than they think! Obstinate as Donagan is, circumstances will be too strong for him. Before the bad season comes I bet you we shall be all together again at French Den.’
Briant only shook his head. Circumstances might bring bade the absent, perhaps, but then the circumstances would be serious.
‘Before the bad season.’ Gordon said.
Were, then, the colonists to pass a third winter on Charman Island? Were they to have no help before then? Were not these parts of the Pacific visited during the summer by merchant vessels, and would they see the balloon signal on the crest of Auckland Hill?
The balloon was, it is true, hoisted only two hundred feet above the level of the island, and could not be seen over a very wide radius. And after trying in vain with Baxter to devise some sort of boat which would be seaworthy, Briant had betaken himself to thinking out some means of raising a signal to a greater height. He spoke of this often, and one day he asked Baxter if it would not be possible to use a kite for the purpose.
‘We have the string and the cloth,’ said he, ‘and if we made the kite big enough, it would fly high enough. We could let it up a thousand feet.’
‘Except on the days when there is not a breath of wind,’ said Baxter.
‘It is very seldom that is the case,’ said Briant ‘and in calm weather we could bring the kite down. But once we had the end of the string fixed to a peg in the ground, the kite would follow the changes of the wind itself, and it would be no trouble to us.’
‘That has to be proved,’ said Baxter.
‘Besides,’ said Baxter, ‘if the kite is visible during the day—say sixty miles away—we could make it visible during the night by hanging one of our lamps to its tail.’
Briant’s idea was practical enough; and there was nothing in it difficult of execution to the boys, who had often flown kites in New Zealand. When it became known, the scheme was received enthusiastically.
Jenkins, Iverson, Dole, and Costar were delighted at the thoughts of a kite far exceeding anything they had seen. How jolly it would be to hang on to the string when it was flying!
‘You must have a long tail,’ said one. ‘And big ears,’ said another.
‘And paint a big Punch on it,’ said another.
‘And we’ll send messengers up to it,’ said another.
It was delightful. The youngsters saw in the kite only a distraction, but it was a serious matter, and might yield very fortunate results.
Baxter and Briant then set to work on the next day but one after Donagan and his three companions had left French Den.
‘It will make people open their eyes to see such a thing,’ said Service. ‘What a pity it is Crusoe and the Swiss Family never thought of kite-flying!’
‘Will it be visible all over the island?’ asked Garnett.
‘Not only all over the island,’ said Briant ‘but for a long way round.’
‘Will they see it at Auckland?’ asked Dole.
‘Not exactly,’ said Briant smiling at the question; ‘but when Donagan and the others see it, they may come back.’
All that day and the next days were occupied in making the kite, which Briant thought would be best if octagonal in shape. The frame, light and strong, was made of a sort of very rigid reed that grew on the shore of Family Lake. On this framework Briant stretched one of the light cloths used to cover the schooner’s skylight and which was waterproof and so impermeable that no wind could find its way through it For a string he used the same cord as that in store for the log-line, and which was capable of standing considerable tension.
The kite had a magnificent tail to keep it in equilibrium when it lay on its bed of air, and it was so strongly made that it could without danger have taken up any of the boys. But that was not the object and it fulfilled all the requirements if it was strong enough to stand all winds, long enough in string to rise to a good height and large enough to be visible over a radius of from fifty to sixty miles. It was not to be held in the hand, for it was large enough to have dragged along the whole of the boys, and much faster than they would like, in anything of a breeze; and so the string was wound round one of the schooner’s winches, which was taken to the terrace and firmly fixed in the ground so as to resist every pull of the ‘Giant,’ as the youngsters had named the kite. This was all finished by the evening of the 15th, and Briant resolved to get the ‘Giant’ up during the following afternoon.
But a storm came, and the kite would have been smashed if it had been let up in such weather. This was the same storm which had burst on Donagan and his companions in the northern part
of the island, and cast the boat and the shipwrecked Americans on the rocks to which there was afterwards given the name of Severn Reefs.
On the 16th, although the weather was not so stormy, yet the wind was too violent for the kite. But as the wind dropped in the afternoon there was good promise of an attempt being successful next day. This was the 17th of October, an important date in the annals of Charman Island.
Although it was a Friday, Briant was not superstitious enough to wait a day. Besides the weather was most favourable, there being a gentle, steady breeze just strong enough to suit the kite. The string was so fastened to the bridle that the kite would fly at such an angle as to rise well overhead.
When evening came the string could be wound in and a lantern tied to the tail which would show a light all night.
The final preparations occupied the morning. At half-past one the kite was laid on the ground, with its long tail stretched out, and only waiting for Briant’s signal to be held up and started. But the signal he did not give.
At that very moment his attention had been called off by Fan, who had rushed off into the forest, and began to bark in such a strange plaintive way that every one was surprised.
‘What is the matter with Fan?’ asked Briant.
‘Has she scented some animal in the wood?’
‘No! She wouldn’t bark like that.’
‘Let us go and see,’ said Service.
‘Not without your weapons’ said Briant.
Service and Jack ran into the cave, and came back with two loaded guns.
‘Now come,’ said Briant.
And the three, accompanied by Gordon, walked off towards Trap Woods in the path taken by Fan, whose barking could still be heard.
Briant and his companions had not gone fifty yards before they saw the dog standing in front of a tree, at the foot of which was a human form.
A woman lay there, still as if she were dead, a woman, whose clothes—gown of some heavy fabric, and brown linen shawl tied round her waist—seemed to be in good repair. Her face showed signs of excessive suffering, although she was of robust constitution, being from forty to fifty-five years of age. Exhausted with fatigue and perhaps hunger, she had fainted away.
Imagine what were the feelings of the young colonists in the presence of the first human being they had met since their arrival on the island.
‘She breathes! She breathes!’ exclaimed Gordon. ‘Hunger, perhaps thirst—’
Jack was off to the cave, to return with some biscuits and a flask of brandy.
Then Briant leaning over the woman, opened her lips and poured a few drops into her mouth. She moved, and raised her eyelids. Then her look brightened as she saw the boys round her. Then Jack held out a biscuit which she seized and ate greedily. Evidently the poor woman was dying more from want than fatigue.
But who was she? Would it be possible to exchange a few words with her, and make her understand?
Briant was soon assured of this.
The unknown raised herself a little, and said in English, —
‘Thanks. Thank you.’
Half an hour afterwards Briant and Baxter had brought her into the hall, and were there giving her all the attention they could.
As soon as she felt herself strong enough, she told them her story, which was as follows, and our readers can judge how much it interested the young colonists.
The woman, an American by birth, had lived for more than twenty years as confidential servant in the family of William R. Penfield, at Albany, the state capital of New York. Her name was Catherine Ready, though she was generally called Kate.
A month since, Mr. and Mrs. Penfield, wishing to go to Chili, where one of their relatives resided, had come to San Francisco, the chief seaport of California, to embark on the merchant-vessel Severn, commanded by Captain John F. Turner. The ship was bound to Valparaiso, and Mr. and Mrs. Penfield and Kate, who was, so to speak, one of the family, took passage in her.
The Severn was a good ship, and would doubtless have made an excellent passage if the eight men of the crew who had recently joined had not been scoundrels of the worst description. Nine days after sailing, one of them, Walston, helped by his companions, Brandt, Rock, Henley, Cook, Forbes, Cope, and Pike, had broken out into mutiny and killed the captain, the second mate, and Mr. and Mrs. Penfield; the object of the murderers being to seize the ship and use her in the slave-trade, which then still existed with a few provinces of South America.
Only two persons on board had been spared; these were Kate, saved by the intercession of Forbes, who was less cruel than the rest, and Evans, the first mate of the Severn, who was kept to navigate the ship.
This horrible affair took place on the night of the 7th of October, when the Severn was about two hundred miles from the Chilian coast.
On pain of death, Evans was forced to lay the course towards Cape Horn, and cross the Atlantic to the west coast of Africa. But a few days afterwards—why, no one ever knew—a fire broke out on board. In a few moments It became so fierce that Walston and his men found it hopeless to save the ship. One of the men, Henley, jumped overboard to escape the fire, and was drowned. The Severn had to be abandoned, the long-boat was launched, a few stores and weapons were thrown into her, and she had only just time to sheer off when the burning vessel foundered.
The position of the survivors was extremely critical, for two hundred miles separated them from the nearest land. It would only have been justice if the boat had gone down with the scoundrels in her, had not Kate and Evans been on board.
Two days after the loss of the ship a violent storm had come on, and the boat, with her sail torn to ribbons and her mast carried away, was driven on to Charman Island. And on the night of the 15th she was thrown on the beach, and her side stove in.
Walston and his companions, exhausted by their long struggle with the storm, suffered so from cold and fatigue that they were almost dead when the boat ran on to the reef; five of them were swept out of her by a wave, and a moment or so afterwards the two others were thrown on to the sand, while Kate fell on the opposite side of the boat.
The two men remained senseless for some time, as also did Kate. When she returned to consciousness she remained quiet and still, thinking that Walston and the others had perished, and waiting for daylight to begin her search for assistance in this unknown land. About three o’clock in the morning she heard footsteps near the boat.
Walston, Brandt and Rock had not been drowned in the wave that struck the boat when she was crossing the reef. They had come along the rocks to the help of their companions, Forbes and Pike, and were now in conversation with them, while Evans remained a few hundred yards away under guard of Cope and Cook.
And this is the conversation that passed—which Kate heard distinctly.
‘Where are we?’ asked Rock.
‘I don’t know,’ said Walston. ‘It doesn’t matter much! We mustn’t stop out here, we must go further in. When day comes we can look about us!’
‘Have you got the firearms?’ asked Forbes.
‘Yes, and the ammunition, all right,’ said Walston, who took out of the locker five guns and several packets of cartridges.
‘That is not much,’ said Rock, ‘in a wild country like this.’
‘Where is Evans?’ asked Brandt.
‘Over there,’ said Walston, ‘watched by Cope and Cook. He’ll have to come with us, whether he likes it or not; and if he resists, I’ll settle him.’
‘What has become of Kate?’ asked Rock.
‘Kate?’ replied Walston. ‘There is nothing to fear from her! I saw her go overboard before the boat ran ashore, and she is at the bottom of the sea now.’
‘That’s a good job,’ said Rock. ‘She knew rather too much about us.’
‘She wouldn’t have known it long,’ said Walston, of whose intentions there could be no doubt.
Kate, who had heard all this, made up her mind to escape as soon as the men went away. And a few minutes afterwards Walston an
d his companions, helping along Forbes and Pike, whose legs were not very firm, carried off the arms and ammunition and what remained of the provisions in the long-boat’s locker—that is to say, a few pounds of salt meat, a little tobacco, and two or three bottles of gin.
As soon as they had cleared off—and they went away when the storm was at its worst—Kate got up. It was time; the tide was coming in, and a minute later she would have been carried away.
It can now be understood why Donagan, Wilcox, Webb, and Cross found the beach deserted when they returned to perform the last duty towards the shipwrecked men. Walston and his people had gone off to the east while Kate, taking the opposite course, fled towards the northern point of Family Lake. There she arrived in the afternoon of the 16th, exhausted by hunger and fatigue. A few wild fruits were all she had had to sustain her. She had then followed the left bank, walking all through the night and all through the morning of the 17th, when she sank to the ground, where she had been found half dead.
Such was Kate’s story—and a very serious state of affairs was revealed by it. On Charman Island, where the young colonists had hitherto lived in complete security, there had landed now seven men capable of any crime. If they discovered French Den, would they hesitate to attack It? No. They had too real an interest in seizing its stores, taking away its provisions, weapons, and particularly its tools, without which it would be impossible for them to repair their boat so as to fit her for sea. And what resistance could Briant and his comrades offer when the eldest was only fifteen, and the youngest scarcely ten years old? Was this not an alarming state of things? If Walston remained on the island, there could be no doubt he would attack them. The interest with which Kate was listened to can be easily imagined.
Only one thing Briant thought of—that Donagan, Wilcox, Webb, and Cross were now in great peril. How could they be on their guard if they did not know of the presence of the survivors of the Severn in the very part of the island they were then exploring? The report of a gun fired by one of them would be enough to reveal their presence to Walston? And then the four would fall into the hands of the scoundrel, who would give them no mercy.
