"Deep in the wave is a coral grove,
Where the purple mullet and gold fish rove,
Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blues,
That never are wet with falling dew,
But in bright and changeful beauty shine,
Far down in the green and grassy brine."
Percival.
Our young mate, and his sole assistant, Bob Betts, had set about their
work on the stream-cable and anchor, the lightest and most manageable of
all the ground-tackle in the vessel. Both were strong and active, and
both were expert in the use of blocks, purchases, and handspikes; but
the day was seen lighting the eastern sky, and the anchor was barely off
the gunwale, and ready to be stoppered in the meanwhile the ship still
tended in the right direction, the wind had moderated to a mere
royal-breeze, and the sea had so far gone down as nearly to leave the
vessel without motion. As soon as perfectly convinced of the existence
of this favourable state of things, and of its being likely to last,
Mark ceased to work, in order to wait for day, telling Bob to
discontinue his exertions also. It was fully time, for both of those
vigorous and strong-handed men were thoroughly fatigued with the toil of
that eventful morning.
The reader may easily imagine with what impatience our two mariners
waited the slow return of light. Each minute seemed an hour, and it
appeared to them as if the night was to last for ever. But the earth
performed its usual revolution, and by degrees sufficient light was
obtained to enable Mark and Bob to examine the state of things around
them. In order to do this the better, each went into a top, looking
abroad from those elevations on the face of the ocean, the different
points of the reef, and all that was then and there to be seen. Mark
went up forward, while Bob ascended into the main-top. The distance
between them was so small, that there was no difficulty in conversing,
which they continued to do, as was natural enough to men in their
situation.
The first look that each of our mariners bestowed, after he was in his
top, was to leeward, which being to the westward, was of course yet in
the darkest point of the horizon. They expected to obtain a sight of at
least one island, and that quite near to them, if not of a group. But no
land appeared! It is true, that it was still too dark to be certain of a
fact of this sort, though Mark felt quite assured that if land was
finally seen, it must be of no great extent, and quite low. He called to
Bob, to ascertain what _he_ thought of appearances to leeward, his
reputation as a look-out being so great.
"Wait a few minutes, sir, till we get a bit more day," answered his
companion. "There is a look on the water, about a league off here on the
larboard quarter, that seems as if something would come out of it. But,
one thing can be seen plain enough, Mr. Mark, and that's the breakers.
There's a precious line on 'em, and that too one within another, as
makes it wonderful how we ever got through 'em as well as we did!"
This was true enough, the light on the ocean to windward being now
sufficient to enable the men to see, in that direction, to a
considerable distance. It was that solemn hour in the morning when
objects first grow distinct, ere they are touched with the direct rays
from the sun, and when everything appears as if coming to us fresh and
renovated from the hands of the Creator. The sea had so far gone down as
to render the breakers much less formidable to the eye, than when it was
blowing more heavily; but this very circumstance made it impossible to
mistake their positions. In the actual state of the ocean, it was
certain that wherever water broke, there must be rocks or shoals
beneath; whereas, in a blow, the combing of an ordinary sea might be
mistaken for the white water of some hidden danger. Many of the rocks,
however, lay so low, that the heavy, sluggish rollers that came
undulating along, scarce did more than show faint, feathery lines of
white, to indicate the character of the places across which they were
passing. Such was now the case with the reef over which the ship had
beaten, the position of which could hardly have been ascertained, or its
danger discovered, at the distance of half a mile. Others again were of
a very different character, the water still tumbling about them like so
many little cataracts. This variety was owing to the greater depth at
which some of the rocks lay than others.
As to the number of the reefs, and the difficulty in getting through
them, Bob was right enough. It often happens that there is an inner and
an outer reef to the islands of the Pacific, particularly to those of
coral formation; but Mark began to doubt whether there was any coral at
all in the place where the Rancocus lay, in consequence of the entire
want of regularity in the position of these very breakers. They were
visible in all directions; not in continuous lines, but in detached
parts; one lying within another, as Bob had expressed it, until the eye
could not reach their outer limits. How the ship had got so completely
involved within their dangerous embraces, without going to pieces on a
dozen of the reefs, was to him matter of wonder; though it sometimes
happens at sea, that dangers are thus safely passed in darkness and fog,
that no man would be bold enough to encounter in broad daylight, and
with a full consciousness of their hazards. Such then had been the sort
of miracle by which the Rancocus had escaped; though it was no more easy
to see how she was to be got out of her present position, than it was to
see how she had got into it. Bob was the first to make a remark on this
particular part of the subject.
"It will need a reg'lar branch here, Mr. Mark, to carry the old Rancocus
clear of all them breakers to sea again," he cried. "Our Delaware banks
is just so many fools to 'em, sir!"
"It is a most serious position for a vessel to be in, Bob," answered
Mark, sighing--"nor do I see how we _are_ ever to get clear of it, even
should we get back men enough to handle the ship."
"I'm quite of your mind, sir," answered Bob, taking out his tobacco-box,
and helping himself to a quid. "Nor would I be at all surprised should
there turn out to be a bit of land to leeward, if you and I was to
Robinson Crusoe it for the rest of our days. My good mother was always
most awarse to my following the seas on account of that very danger;
most especially from a fear of the savages from the islands round
about."
"We will look for our boats," Mark gravely replied, the image of
Bridget, just at that instant, appearing before his mind with a painful
distinctness.
Both now turned their eyes again to leeward, the first direct rays of
the sun beginning to illumine the surface of the ocean in that quarter.
Something like a misty cloud had been settled on the water, rather less
than a league from the ship, in the western board, and had hitherto
prevented a close examination in that part of the horizon. The power of
the sun, however, almost instantly dispersed it, and then, for the first
time, Bob fancied he did discover something like land. Mark, however,
could not make it out, until he had gone up into the cross-trees, when
he, too, got a glimpse of what, under all the circumstances, he did not
doubt was either a portion of the reef that rose above the water, or was
what might be termed a low, straggling island. Its distance from the
ship, they estimated at rather more than two leagues.
Both Mark and Bob remained aloft near an hour longer, or until they had
got the best possible view of which their position would allow, of
everything around the ship. Bob went down, and took a glass up to his
officer, Mark sweeping the whole horizon with it, in the anxious wish to
make out something cheering in connection with the boats. The drift of
these unfortunate craft must have been towards the land, and that he
examined with the utmost care. Aided by the glass, and his elevation, he
got a tolerable view of the spot, which certainly promised as little in
the way of supplies as any other bit of naked reef he had ever seen. The
distance, however, was so great as to prevent his obtaining any certain
information on that point. One thing, however, he did ascertain, as he
feared, with considerable accuracy. After passing the glass along the
whole of that naked rock, he could see nothing on it in motion. Of birds
there were a good many, more indeed than from the extent of the visible
reef he might have expected; but no signs of man could be discovered. As
the ocean, in all directions, was swept by the glass, and this single
fragment of a reef, which was less than a mile in length, was the only
thing that even resembled land, the melancholy conviction began to force
itself on Mark and Bob, that all their shipmates had perished! They
might have perished in one of several ways; as the naked reef did not
lie precisely to leeward of the ship, the boats may have driven by it,
in the deep darkness of the past night, and gone far away out of sight
of the spot where they had left the vessel, long ere the return of day.
There was just the possibility that the spars of the ship might be seen
by the wanderers, if they were still living, and the faint hope of their
regaining the vessel, in the course of the day, by means of their oars.
It was, however, more probable that the boats had capsized in some of
the numerous fragments of breakers, that were visible even in the
present calm condition of the ocean, and that all in them had been
drowned. The best swimmer must have hopelessly perished, in such a
situation, and in such a night, unless carried by a providential
interference to the naked rock to leeward. That no one was living on
that reef, the glass pretty plainly proved.
Mark and Bob Betts descended to the deck, after passing a long time
aloft making their observations. Both were pretty well assured that
their situation was almost desperate, though each was too resolute, and
too thoroughly imbued with the spirit of a seaman, to give up while
there was the smallest shadow of hope. As it was now getting past the
usual breakfast hour, some cold meat was got out, and, for the first
time since Mark had been transferred to the cabin, they sat down on the
windlass and ate the meal together. A little, however, satisfied men in
their situation; Bob Betts fairly owning that he had no appetite, though
so notorious at the ship's beef and a biscuit, as to be often the
subject of his messmates' jokes. That morning even he could eat but
little, though both felt it to be a duty they owed to themselves to take
enough to sustain nature. It was while these two forlorn and desolate
mariners sat there on the windlass, picking, as it might be, morsel by
morsel, that they first entered into a full and frank communication with
each other, touching the realities of their present situation. After a
good deal had passed between them, Mark suddenly asked--
"Do you think it possible, Bob, for us two to take care of the ship,
should we even manage to get her into deep water again?"
"Well, that is not so soon answered, Mr. Woolston," returned Bob. "We're
both on us stout, and healthy, and of good courage, Mr. Mark; but
'twould be a desperate long way for two hands to carry a wessel of four
hundred tons, to take the old 'Cocus from this here anchorage, all the
way to the coast of America; and short of the coast there's no ra'al
hope for us. Howsever, sir, _that_ is a subject that need give us no
consarn."
"I do not see that, Bob; we shall have to do it, unless we fall in with
something at sea, could we only once get the vessel; out from among
these reefs."
"Ay, ay, sir--could' we get her out from among these reefs, indeed!
There's the rub, Mr. Woolston; but I fear 't will never be 'rub and
_go_.'"
"You think, then, we are too fairly in for it, ever to get the ship
clear?"
"Such is just my notion, Mr. Woolston, on that subject, and I've no wish
to keep it a secret. In my judgment, was poor Captain Crutchely alive
and back at his post, and all hands just as they was this time
twenty-four hours since, and the ship where she is now, that _here_ she
would have to stay. Nothing short of kedging can ever take the wessel
clear of the reefs to windward on us, and man-of-war kedging could
hardly do it, then."
"I am sorry to hear you say this," answered Mark, gloomily, "though I
feared as much myself."
"Men is men, sir, and you can get no more out on 'em than is in 'em. I
looked well at these reefs, sir, when aloft, and they're what I call as
hopeless affairs as ever I laid eyes on. If they lay in any sort of way,
a body might have some little chance of getting through 'em, but they
don't lay, no how. 'T would be 'luff' and 'keep her away' every half
minute or so, should we attempt to beat up among 'em; and who is there
aboard here to brace up, and haul aft, and ease off, and to swing yards
sich as our'n?"
"I was not altogether without the hope, Bob, of getting the ship into
clear water: though I have thought it would be done with difficulty, I
am still of opinion we had better try it, for the alternative is a very
serious matter."
"I don't exactly understand what you mean by attorneytives, Mr. Mark;
though it's little harm, or little good that any attorney can do the old
'Cocus, now! But, as for getting this craft through them reefs, to
windward, and into clear water, it surpasses the power of man. Did you
just notice the tide-ripples, Mr. Mark, when you was up in the
cross-trees?"
"I saw them, Bob, and am fully aware of the difficulty of running as
large a vessel as this among them, even with a full crew. But what will
become of us, unless we get the ship into open water?"
"Sure enough, sir. I see no other hope for us, Mr. Mark, but to Robinson
Crusoe it awhile, until our times come; or, till the Lord, in his marcy,
shall see fit to have us picked up."
"Robinson Crusoe it!" repeated Mark, smiling at the quaintness of Bob's
expression, which the well-meaning fellow uttered in all simplicity, and
in perfect good faith--"where are we to find even an uninhabited island,
on which to dwell after the mode of Robinson Crusoe?"
"There's a bit of a reef to-leeward, where I dare say a man might pick
up a living, arter a fashion," answered Bob, coolly; "then, here is the
ship."
"And how long would a hempen cable hold the ship in a place like this,
where every time the vessel lifts to a sea, the clench is chafing on a
rock? No, no, Bob--the ship cannot long remain where she is, depend on
_that_. We must try and pass down to leeward, if we cannot beat the ship
through the dangers to windward."
"Harkee, Mr. Mark; I thought this matter over in my mind, while we was
aloft, and this is my idee as to what is best to be done, for a start.
There's the dingui on the poop, in as good order as ever a boat was. She
will easily carry two on us, and, on a pinch, she might carry half a
dozen. Now, my notion is to get the dingui into the water, to put a
breaker and some grub in her, and to pull, down to that bit of a reef,
and have a survey of it. I'll take the sculls going down, and you can
keep heaving the by way of finding out if there be sich a thang as a
channel in that direction. If the ship is ever to be moved by us two,
it must be by going to leeward, and not by attempting to turn up ag'in
wind and tide among them 'ere rocks, out here to the eastward. No, sir;
let us take the dingui, and surwey the reef, and look for our shipmates;
a'ter which we can best tell what to undertake, with some little hope of
succeeding. The weather seems settled, and the sooner we are off the
better."
This proposal struck Mark's young mind as plausible, as well as
discreet. To recover even a single man would be a great advantage, and
he had lingering hopes that some of the people might yet be found on the
reef. Then Bob's idea about getting the ship through the shoal water, by
passing to leeward, in preference to making the attempt against the
wind, was a sound one; and, on a little reflection, he was well enough
disposed to acquiesce in it. Accordingly, when they quitted the
windlass, they both set about putting this project in execution.
The dingui was no great matter of a boat, and they had not much
difficulty in getting it into the water. First by slinging, it was
swayed high enough to clear the rail, when Bob bore it over the side,
and Mark lowered away. It was found to be tight, Captain Crutchely
having kept it half full of water ever since they got into the Pacific,
and in other respects it was in good order. It was even provided with a
little sail, which did very well before the wind. While Bob saw to
provisioning the boat, and filling its breakers with fresh water, Mark
attended to another piece of duty that he conceived to be of the last
importance. The Rancocus carried several guns, an armament prepared to
repel the savages of the sandal-wood islands, and these guns were all
mounted and in their places. There were two old-fashioned sixes, and
eight twelve-pound carronades. The first made smart reports when
properly loaded. Our young mate now got the keys of the magazine, opened
it, and brought forth three cartridges, with which he loaded three of
the guns. These guns he fired, with short intervals between them, in
hopes that the reports would be carried to the ears of some of the
missing people, and encourage them to make every effort to return. The
roar of artillery sounded strangely enough in the midst of that vast
solitude; and Bob Betts, who had often been in action, declared that he
was much affected by it, As no immediate result was expected from the
firing of these guns, Mark had no sooner discharged them, than he joined
Betts, who by this time had everything ready, and prepared to quit the
ship. Before he did this, however, he made an anxious and careful survey
of the weather it being all-important to be certain no change in this
respect was likely to occur in his absence. All the omens were
favourable, and Bob reporting for the third time that everything was
ready, the young man went over the side, and descended, with a
reluctance he could not conceal, into the boat. Certainly, it was no
trifling matter for men in the situation of our two mariners, to leave
their vessel all alone, to be absent for a large portion of the day. It
was to be done, however; though it was done reluctantly, and not without
many misgivings, in spite of the favourable signs in the atmosphere.
When Mark had taken his seat in the dingui, Bob let go his hold of the
ship, and set the sail. The breeze was light, and fair to go, though it
was by no means so certain how it would serve them on the return.
Previously to quitting the ship, Mark had taken a good look at the
breakers to leeward, in order to have some general notion of the course
best to steer, and he commenced his little voyage, but entirely without
a plan for his own government. The breakers were quite as numerous to
leeward as to windward, but the fact of there being so many of them made
smooth water between them. A boat, or a ship, that was once fairly a
league or so within the broken lines of rocks, was like a vessel
embayed, the rollers of the open ocean expending their force on the
outer reefs, and coming in much reduced in size and power. Still the
uneasy ocean, even in its state of rest, is formidable at the points
where its waters meet with rocks, or sands and the breakers that did
exist, even as much embayed as was the dingui, were serious matters for
so small a boat to encounter. It was necessary, consequently, to steer
clear of them, lest they should capsize, or fill, this, the only craft
of the sort that now belonged to the vessel, the loss of which would be
a most serious matter indeed.
The dingui slided away from the ship with a very easy movement. There
was just about as much wind as so small a craft needed, and Bob soon
began to sound, Mark preferring to steer. It was, however, by no means
easy to sound in so low a boat, while in such swift motion; and Bob was
compelled to give it up. As they should be obliged to return with the
oars, Mark observed that then he would feel his way back to the ship.
Nevertheless, the few casts of the lead that did succeed, satisfied our
mariners that there was much more than water enough for the Rancocus,
between the reefs. _On_ them, doubtless it would turn out to be
different.
Mark met with more difficulty than he had anticipated in keeping the
dingui out of the breakers. So very smooth was the sort of bay he was
in--a bay by means of the reefs to windward, though no rock in that
direction rose above the surface of the sea--so very smooth, then, was
the sort of bay he was in, that the water did not break, in many places,
except at long intervals; and then only when a roller heavier than
common found its way in from the outer ocean. As a consequence, the
breakers that did suddenly show themselves from a cause like this, were
the heaviest of all, and the little dingui would have fared badly had it
been caught on a reef, at the precise moment when such a sea tumbled
over in foam. This accident was very near occurring once or twice, but
it was escaped, more by providential interference than by any care or
skill in the adventurers.
It is very easy to imagine the intense interest with which our two
mariners drew near to the visible reef. Their observations from the
cross-trees of the ship, had told them this was all the land anywhere
very near them, and if they did not find their lost shipmates here, they
ought not to expect to find them at all. Then this reef, or island, was
of vast importance in other points of view. It might become their future
home; perhaps for years, possibly for life. The appearances of the
sunken reefs, over and among which he had just passed, had greatly
shaken Mark's hope of ever getting the ship from among them, and he even
doubted the possibility of bringing her down, before the wind, to the
place where he was then going. All these considerations, which began to
press more and more painfully on his mind, each foot as he advanced,
served to increase the intensity of the interest with which he noted
every appearance on, or about, the reef, or island, that he was now
approaching. Bob had less feeling on the subject. He had less
imagination, and foresaw consequences and effects less vividly than his
officer, and was more accustomed to the vicissitudes of a seaman's life.
Then he had left no virgin bride at home, to look for his return; and
had moreover made up his mind that it was the will of Providence that he
and Mark were to 'Robinson Crusoe it' awhile, on 'that bit of a reef.'
Whether they should ever be rescued from so desolate a place, was a
point on which he had not yet begun to ponder.
The appearances were anything but encouraging, as the dingui drew nearer
and nearer to the naked part of the reef. The opinions formed of this
place, by the examination made from the cross-trees, turned out to be
tolerably accurate, in several particulars. It was just about a mile in
length, while its breadth varied from half a mile to less than an eighth
of a mile. On its shores, the rock along most of the reef rose but a
very few feet above the surface of the water, though at its eastern, or
the weather extremity, it might have been of more than twice the usual
height; its length lay nearly east and west. In the centre of this
island, however, there was a singular formation of the rock, which
appeared to rise to an elevation of something like sixty or eighty feet,
making a sort of a regular circular mound of that height, which occupied
no small part of the widest portion of the island. Nothing like tree,
shrub, or grass, was visible, as the boat drew near enough to render
such things apparent. Of aquatic birds there were a good many: though
even they did not appear in the numbers that are sometimes seen in the
vicinity of uninhabited islands. About certain large naked rocks, at no
great distance however from the principal reef, they were hovering in
thousands.
At length the little dingui glided in quite near to the island. Mark was
at first surprised to find so little surf beating against even its
weather side, but this was accounted for by the great number of the
reefs that lay for miles without it; and, particularly, by the fact
that one line of rock stretched directly across this weather end,
distant from it only two cables' lengths, forming a pretty little sheet
of perfectly smooth water between it and the island. Of course, to do
this, the line of reef just mentioned must come very near the surface;
as in fact was the case, the rock rising so high as to be two or three
feet out of water on the ebb, though usually submerged on the flood. The
boat was obliged to pass round one end of this last-named reef, where
there was deep water, and then to haul its wind a little in order to
reach the shore.
It would be difficult to describe the sensations with which Mark first
landed. In approaching the place, both he and Bob had strained their
eyes in the hope of seeing some proof that their shipmates had been
there; but no discovery rewarded their search. Nothing was seen, on or
about the island, to furnish the smallest evidence that either of the
boats had touched it. Mark found that he was treading on naked rock when
he had landed, though the surface was tolerably smooth. The rock itself
was of a sort to which he was unaccustomed; and he began to suspect,
what in truth turned out on further investigation to be the fact, that
instead of being on a reef of coral, he was on one of purely volcanic
origin. The utter nakedness of the rock both surprised and grieved him.
On the reefs, in every direction, considerable quantities of sea-weed
had lodged, temporarily at least; but none of it appeared to have found
its way to this particular place. Nakedness and dreariness were the two
words which best described the island; the only interruption to its
solitude and desolation being occasioned by the birds, which now came
screaming and flying above the heads of the intruders, showing both by
their boldness and their cries, that they were totally unacquainted with
men.
The mound, in the centre of the reef, was an object too conspicuous to
escape attention, and our adventurers approached it at once, with the
expectation of getting a better look-out from its summit, than that they
had on the lower level of the surface of the ordinary reef. Thither then
they proceeded, accompanied by a large flight of the birds. Neither Mark
nor Bob, however, had neglected to turn his eyes towards the now
distant ship, which was apparently riding at its anchor, in exactly the
condition in which it had been left, half an hour before. In that
quarter all seemed right, and Mark led the way to the mount, with active
and eager steps.
On reaching the foot of this singular elevation, our adventurers found
it would not be so easy a matter as they had fancied, to ascend it.
Unlike the rest of the reef which they had yet seen, it appeared to be
composed of a crumbling rock, and this so smooth and perpendicular as to
render it extremely difficult to get up. A place was found at length,
however, and by lending each other a hand, Mark and Bob finally got on
the summit. Here a surprise was ready for them, that drew an exclamation
from each, the instant the sight broke upon him. Instead of finding an
elevated bit of table-rock, as had been expected, a circular cavity
existed within, that Mark at once recognised to be the extinct crater of
a volcano! After the first astonishment was over, Mark made a close
examination of the place.
The mound, or barrier of lava and scoriæ that composed the outer wall of
this crater, was almost mathematically circular. Its inner precipice was
in most places absolutely perpendicular, though overhanging in a few;
there being but two or three spots where an active man could descend in
safety. The area within might contain a hundred acres while the wall
preserved a very even height of about sixty feet, falling a little below
this at the leeward side, where there existed one narrow hole, or
passage, on a level with the bottom of the crater; a sort of gateway, by
which to enter and quit the cavity. This passage had no doubt been
formed by the exit of lava, which centuries ago had doubtless broken
through at this point, and contributed to form the visible reef beyond.
The height of this hole was some twenty feet, having an arch above it,
and its width may have been thirty. When Mark got to it, which he did by
descending the wall of the crater, not without risk to his neck, he
found the surface of the crater very even and unbroken, with the
exception of its having a slight descent from its eastern to its western
side; or from the side opposite to the outlet, or gateway, to the
gateway itself. This inclination Mark fancied was owing to the
circumstance that the water of the ocean had formerly entered at the
hole, in uncommonly high tides and tempests, and washed the ashes which
had once formed the bottom of the crater, towards the remote parts of
the plain. These ashes had been converted by time into a soft, or
friable rock, composing a stone that is called tufa. If there had ever
been a cone in the crater, as was probably the case, it had totally
disappeared under the action of time and the wear of the seasons. Rock,
however, the bed of the crater could scarcely be yet considered, though
it had a crust which bore the weight of a man very readily, in nearly
every part of it. Once or twice Mark broke through, as one would fall
through rotten ice, when he found his shoes covered with a light dust
that much resembled ashes. In other places he broke this crust on
purpose, always finding beneath it a considerable depth of ashes,
mingled with some shells, and a few small stones.
That the water sometimes flowed into this crater was evident by a
considerable deposit of salt, which marked the limits of the latest of
these floods. This salt had probably prevented vegetation. The water,
however, never could have entered from the sea, had not the lava which
originally made the outlet left a sort of channel that was lower than
the surface of the outer rocks. It might be nearer to the real character
of the phenomenon were we to say, that the lava which had broken through
the barrier at this point, and tumbled into the sea, had not quite
filled the channel which it rather found than formed, when it ceased to
flow. Cooling in that form, an irregular crevice was left, through which
the element no doubt still occasionally entered, when the adjacent ocean
got a sufficient elevation. Mark observed that, from some cause or
other, the birds avoided the crater. It really seemed to him that their
instincts warned them of the dangers that had once environed the place,
and that, to use the language of sailors, "they gave it a wide berth,"
in consequence. Whatever may have been the cause, such was the fact; few
even flying over it, though they were to be seen in hundreds, in the air
all round it.