by Jules Verne
After being tried as we have been, we have a right to have confidence in our own energy. Two of Jean Zermatt's sons can't lose heart.''
"My dear wife," Fritz replied, "if ever I were to falter I should only have to listen to you! No; we will not fail, and we shall be splendidly backed up. The boatswain is a man on whom to rely utterly. As for the poor captain –"
"He will get over it, he will get well, Fritz, dear," Jenny said confidently. "The fever will drop. When we get him to land he will be better attended to, and will pick up his strength, and we shall find our leader in him once more."
"Ah, Jenny, dear," exclaimed Fritz, pressing her to his heart, "may God grant that this land can offer us the resources that we need! I don't ask for as much as we found in New Switzerland; we cannot expect that. The worst of all would be to encounter savages, against whom we have no defence, and to be obliged to put to sea again without getting fresh provisions. It would be better to land upon a desert shore even only an island. There will be fish in its waters and shells on its beaches, and perhaps flocks of birds, as we found when we got to the shore at Rock Castle. We shall contrive to revictual, and after a week or two, when we have had a rest and the captain has recovered his strength, we could set out to discover a more hospitable coast. This boat is sound and we have an excellent sailor to manage her. The rainy season is not nearly due yet. We have lived through some storms already, and we should live through more. Let this land, whatever it is, only give us some fresh provisions, and then, with the help of God –"
"Fritz, dear," Jenny answered, clasping her husband's hands in her own, "you must say all that to our companions. Let them hear you, and they will not lose heart."
"They never have, for a moment, dear wife," said Fritz; "and if they ever should falter, it is you, bravest and most capable of women, the English girl of Burning Rock, who would give them hope once more!"
All thought as Fritz did of this brave Jenny. While they had been shut up in their cabins it was from her that Dolly and Susan had been encouraged to resist despair.
One advantage this land seemed to have. It was not like New Switzerland, through whose waters merchant vessels never passed. On the contrary, whether it were the southern coast of Australia or Tasmania, or even an island in the archipelagoes of the Pacific, its position would be marked in the naval charts.
But even if Captain Gould and his companions could entertain some hope of being picked up there, they could not be otherwise than profoundly distressed by the thought of the distance that separated them from New Switzerland—hundreds of miles, no doubt, since the Flag had sailed steadily eastwards for a whole week.
It was now the 13th of October. Nearly a year had passed since the Unicorn had left the island, whither she was due to return about this time. At Rock Castle, M. and Mme. Zermatt, Ernest and Jack, Mr. and Mrs. Wolston and Hannah, were counting the days and hours.
In a few weeks more, after her stay at Cape Town, the Unicorn would appear in New Switzerland waters, and then the Zermatts and Wolstons would learn that their missing dear ones had taken their passage in the Flag, which had not been seen again. Could they doubt that she had perished with all hands in one of the frequent storms that rage in the Indian Ocean? Would there be room for hope that they would ever see her passengers again?
All that was in the future, however; the immediate present held quite enough formidable possibilities to engage their attention.
Ever since Frank had pointed out the land, the boatswain had been steadily steering in a northerly direction, not an easy task without a compass. The position indicated by Frank was only approximate, and unfortunately the thick curtain veiled the horizon line, which, from observers on the level of the sea, must still be ten or twelve miles away.
The oars had been got out. Fritz and James were rowing with all the strength they could exert. But in their state of exhaustion they could not lift the heavily loaded boat, and it would take them the entire day to cover the distance which lay between them and the shore.
God grant that the wind might not thwart all their efforts! On the whole it would be better if the calm endured till evening. Should the breeze blow from the north, the boat would be carried far back from these waters.
By midday it was questionable whether more than a couple of miles had been done since morning. The boatswain suspected that a current was setting in the opposite direction.
About two o'clock in the afternoon John Block, who was standing up, exclaimed:—
"A breeze is coming; I can feel it! The jib by itself will do more than the oars."
The boatswain was not mistaken. A few minutes later little flaws began to paint green the surface of the water in the south-west, and a creamy ripple spread right to the sides of the boat.
"That shows you are right, Block," said Fritz. "But still, the breeze is so faint that we must not stop rowing."
"We won't stop, Mr. Fritz," the boatswain answered; "let us plug away until the sail can carry us towards the coast."
"Where is it?" asked Fritz, trying in vain to look through the curtain of fog.
"Right in front of us, for sure!"
"Is it so certain, Block?" Frank put in.
"Where would you have it be, except behind that cursed fog up there in the north?" the boatswain retorted.
"We would have it there all right," James Wolston said. "But that is not surety enough!"
And they could not possibly know, unless the wind should freshen.
This it made no haste to do, and it was after three when the napping of the half-clewed sail showed that it might now be of use.
The oars were taken in, and Fritz and Frank hoisted the foresail and hauled it in hard, while the boatswain secured the sheet which was thrashing the gunwale.
Was it nothing more than a capricious breeze, whose intermittent breath would not be strong enough to disperse the fog?
For twenty minutes more doubt reigned. Then the swell took the boat broadside on, and the boatswain had to bring her head round with one of the sculls. The foresail and the jib bellied out, drawing the sheets quite taut.
The direction they had to take was northward, until the wind should clear the horizon.
They hoped that this might happen as soon as the breeze had got so far. So all eyes were fixed in that direction. If the land showed only for one moment, John Block would ask no more, but would steer for it.
But no rift appeared in the veil, although the wind seemed to acquire force as the sun went down. The boat was moving fairly fast. Fritz and the boatswain were beginning to wonder if they had passed the land.
Doubt crept into their hearts again. Had Frank been mistaken, after all? Had he really caught sight of land to the northward?
He declared again most positively that he had.
"It was a high coast," he declared again, "a cliff with an almost horizontal crest, and it was impossible to mistake a cloud for it."
"Yet, since we are bearing down upon it," Fritz replied, "we ought to have reached it by now. It could not have been more than twelve or fifteen miles off then."
"Are you sure, Block," Frank went on, "that you have been steering the boat on to it all the time, and that it was due north?"
"It is possible that we have got on a wrong tack," the boatswain acknowledged. "And so I think it would be better to wait until the horizon clears, even if we have to stay where we are all night."
That might be the best thing to do. But if the boat were close to the shore it would not be wise to risk it among the reefs which probably fringed it.
So all listened intently, trying to detect the least sound of surf.
Nothing was to be heard—none of the long and sullen rolling of the sea when it breaks upon reefs of rocks, or bursts in foam upon the beach.
The utmost caution had to be exercised. About half-past five, the boatswain ordered the foresail to be struck. The jib was left as it was, to give steerage way.
It was the wisest thing to do, to reduce the speed
of the boat until the land was sighted.
At night, in the midst of such profound darkness, there was danger in venturing near a coast—danger of counter-currents drifting on to it, though there might be no wind. In similar conditions a ship would not have delayed until the evening to put out again and seek the security of the open sea. But a boat cannot do what a ship may. To tack up against the southerly wind, which was freshening now, would have involved a risk of getting too far away—not to mention the severe toil.
So the boat stayed where it was, with only the jib sail set, hardly moving, her head pointed north.
But at last all uncertainty and all possibility of mistake was removed. About six o'clock in the evening the sun showed itself for a moment before disappearing below the waves.
On the 21st of September it set exactly in the west, and on the 13th of October, twenty-three days after the equinox, it set a little above in the southern hemisphere. Just at that moment the fog lifted, and Fritz could see the sun drawing near to the horizon. Ten minutes later its fiery disc was flush with the line of sky and sea.
"That is the north, over there!" said Fritz, pointing with his hand to a point rather to the left of that on which the boat was headed.
Almost at once he was answered by a shout, a shout that all of them uttered together.
"Land! Land!"
The mist had just dispersed, and the coast line was revealed not more than a mile away.
The boatswain steered straight for it. The foresail was set again and swelled out in the dying breeze.
Half an hour later the boat had grounded on a sandy beach, and was made fast behind a long point of rock, well sheltered from the surf.
CHAPTER V - A BARREN SHORE
THE castaways had reached land at last! Not one of them had succumbed to the fatigue and privations of their fortnight's voyage under such distressing and dangerous conditions, and for that thanks were due to God. Only Captain Gould was suffering terribly from fever. But in spite of his exhaustion, his life did not appear to be in danger, and a few days' rest might set him up again.
The question rose, what was this land on which they had disembarked?
Whatever it was, it unhappily was not New Switzerland, where, but for the mutiny of Robert Borupt and his crew, the Flag would have arrived within the expected time. What had this unknown shore to offer instead of the comfort and prosperity of Rock Castle?
But this was not the moment to waste time over such questions. The night was so dark that nothing could be seen except a strand backed by a lofty cliff, at its sides bastions of rock. It was settled that all should remain in the boat until sunrise. Fritz and the boatswain were to keep watch until the morning. The coast might be frequented by natives, and vigilance was necessary. Whether it were Australian continent or Pacific Island, they must be upon their guard. In the event of attack they would be able to escape by putting out to sea.
Jenny, Dolly, and Susan therefore resumed their places beside Captain Gould. Frank and James stretched themselves out between the benches, ready to spring up at the call of the boatswain. But for the moment they had reached the limit of their strength, and they fell asleep immediately.
Fritz and John Block sat together in the stern and talked in low tones.
"So here we are in harbour, Mr. Fritz," said the boatswain; "I knew we should end by getting there. If it isn't, properly speaking, a harbour, you will agree at any rate that it is ever so much better than anchoring among rocks. Our boat is safe for the night. To-morrow we will look into things."
"I envy you your cheerfulness, my dear Block," Fritz answered. "This neighbourhood does not inspire me with any confidence, and our position is anything but comfortable near a coast whose bearings we do not even know."
"The coast is a coast, Mr. Fritz. It has got creeks and beaches and rocks; it is made like any other, and I don't suppose it will sink from under our feet. As for the question of leaving it, or of settling on it, we will decide that later."
"Anyhow, Block, I hope we shall not be obliged to put to sea again before the captain has had a little time to rest and recover. So if the spot is deserted, if it has resources to offer, and we run no risk of falling into the hands of natives, we must stay here some time."
"Deserted it certainly seems to be so far," the boatswain replied, "and to my thinking, it is better it should be."
"I think so, too, Block, and I think that we shall be able to renew our provisions by fishing, if we can't by hunting."
"As you say, sir. Then, if the game here only amounts to sea-birds which one can't live on, we will hunt in the forests and plains inland and make up our fishing that way. Without guns, of course –"
"What brutes they were, Block, not even to leave us any firearms!"
'' They were perfectly right—in their own interests, you understand," the boatswain replied. "Before we let go I could not have resisted the temptation to shoot at the head of that rascal Borupt—the treacherous hound!"
"Traitors all," Fritz added; "all of them who stood in with him."
"Well, they shall pay for their treachery some day!" John Block declared.
"Did you hear anything, bos'un?" Fritz asked suddenly, listening intently.
"No; that sound is only the ripples along the shore. There is nothing to worry about, so far, and although the night is as dark as the bottom of the hold I've got good eyes."
"Well, don't shut them for a moment, Block; let us be prepared for anything."
"The hawser is ready to be cast off," the boatswain answered. "If need be, we shall only have to seize the oars, and with one shove with the boat-hook I'll guarantee to drive the boat a good twenty yards from the rocks."
More than once, however, during the night, Fritz and the boatswain were set on the alert. They thought they could hear a crawling sound upon the sandy shore.
Deep silence reigned. The breeze had died away; the sea had fallen to a calm. A slight surf breaking at the foot of the rocks was all that could be heard. A few birds, a very few,, gulls and sea-mews flying in from the sea, sought their crannies in the cliffs. Nothing disturbed the first night passed upon the shore.
Next morning all were astir at daybreak, and it was with sinking hearts that they examined the coast on which they had found refuge.
Fritz had been able to see part of it the day before, when it was a mile or so away. Viewed from that point it extended ten or twelve miles east and west. From the promontory at the foot of which the boat was moored, only a fifth of that, at most, could be seen, shut in between two angles with the sea beyond, clear and lucent on the right hand but still dark upon the left. The shore extended for a stretch of perhaps a mile, enclosed at each end by lofty bastions of rock, while a black cliff completely shut it in behind.
This cliff must have been eight or nine hundred feet in height, rising sheer from the beach, which sloped steeply up to its base. Was it higher still beyond? That could only be ascertained by scaling the crest by means of the bastions, one of which, the one to the east, running rather farther out to sea, presented an outline that was not so perpendicular. Even on that side, however, the ascent would be an uncommonly difficult one, if indeed it were not impracticable.
Captain Gould and his companions were first conscious of a feeling of utter discouragement as they beheld the wild desolation of this carpet of sand, with points of rock jutting out here and there. Not a tree, not a bush, not a trace of vegetation! Here were the melancholy and horror of the desert. The only verdure was that of scanty lichens, those rudimentary productions of nature, rootless, stalkless, leafless, flowerless, looking like scabby patches on the sides of the rocks, and of every tint from faded yellow to brilliant red. In some places, too, there was a kind of sticky mildew caused by the damp. At the edge of the cliff there was not a blade of grass; on its granite wall there was not a single one of those stone-crops or rock plants which need so very little soil.
Was it to be deduced that soil was lacking on the plateau above as well? Had
the boat found nothing better than one of those desert islands undeserving of a name?
"It certainly isn't what you might call a gay place," the boatswain murmured in Fritz's ear.
"Perhaps we should have had better luck if we had come ashore on the west or east."
"Perhaps," Block assented; "but at any rate we shall not run up against any savages here."
For it was obvious that not even a savage could have existed on this barren shore.
Jenny, Frank, Dolly, James, and Susan sat in the boat, surveying the whole coast, so different from the verdant shores of the Promised Land. Even Burning Rock, gloomy of aspect as it was, had had its natural products to offer to Jenny Montrose, the fresh water of its stream and the game in its woods and plains. Here was nothing but stones and sand, a bank of shells on the left, and long trails of sea-weeds left high and dry by the tide. Verily, a land of desolation!
