Jules Verne series: The castaways of the flags

CHAPTER I - THE CASTAWAYS



            NIGHT—a pitch-dark night! It was almost impossible to distinguish sky from sea. From the sky, laden with clouds low and heavy, deformed and tattered, lightning flashed every now and then, followed by muffled rolls of thunder. At these flashes the horizon lit up for a moment and showed deserted and melancholy.



            No wave broke in foam upon the surface of the sea. There was nothing but the regular and monotonous rolling of the swell and the gleam of ripples under the lightning flashes. Not a breath moved across the vast plain of ocean, not even the hot breath of the storm. But electricity so charged the atmosphere that it escaped in phosphorescent light, and ran up and down the rigging of the boat in tongues of Saint Elmo's fire. Although the sun had set four or five hours ago, the sweltering heat of the day had not passed.



            Two men talked in low tones, in the stern of a big ship's boat that was decked in to the foot of the mast. Her foresail and jib were flapping as the monotonous rolling shook her.



            One of these men, holding the tiller tucked under his arm, tried to dodge the cruel swell that rolled the boat from side to side. He was a sailor, about forty years of age, thick-set and sturdy, with a frame of iron on which fatigue, privation, even despair, had never taken effect. An Englishman by nationality, this boatswain was named John Block.



            The other man was barely eighteen, and did not seem to belong to the sea-faring class.



            In the bottom of the boat, under the poop and seats, with no strength left to pull the oars, a number of human beings were lying, among them a child of five years old—a poor little creature whose whimpering was audible, whom its mother tried to hush with idle talk and kisses.



            Before the mast, upon the poop, and near the jib stays, two people sat motionless and silent, hand in hand, lost in the most gloomy thoughts. So intense was the darkness that it was only by the lightning flashes that they could see each other.



            From the bottom of the boat a head was lifted sometimes, only to droop again at once.



            The boatswain spoke to the young man lying by his side.



            "No, no. I watched the horizon until the sun went down. No land in sight—not a sail!



            But what I didn't see this evening will perhaps be visible at dawn."



            "But, bo'sun," his companion answered, "we must get to land somewhere in the next forty-eight hours, or we shall have succumbed."



            "That's true," John Block agreed. "Land must appear—simply must. Why, continents and islands were made on purpose to give shelter to brave men, and one always ends by getting to them!"



            "If the wind helps one, bo'sun."



            "That is the only reason wind was invented, '' John Block replied. "To-day, as bad luck would have it, it was busy somewhere else, in the middle of the Atlantic or the Pacific perhaps, for it didn't blow enough here to fill my cap. Yes, a jolly good gale would blow us merrily along."



            "Or swallow us up, Block."



            "Oh no, not that! No, no, not that! Of all ways to bring this job to a finish, that would be the worst."



            "Who can tell, bo'sun?"



            Then for some minutes the two men were silent. Nothing could be heard but the gentle rippling under the boat.



            "How is the captain?" the young man went on.



            "Captain Gould, good man, is in bad case," John Block replied. "How those blackguards knocked him about! The wound in his head makes him cry out with pain. And it was an officer in whom he had every confidence who stirred those wretches up! No, no! One fine morning, or one fine afternoon, or perhaps one fine evening, that rascal of a Borupt shall make his last ugly face at the yardarm or --"



            "The brute! The brute!" the young man exclaimed, clenching his fists in wrath. "But poor Harry Gould! You dressed his wounds this evening, Block --"



            "Ay, ay; and when I put him back under the poop, after I had put compresses on his head, he was able to speak to me, though very feebly. 'Thanks, Block, thanks,' he said—as if I wanted thanks! ' And land? What about land?' he asked. 'You may be quite sure, captain,' I told him, 'that there is land somewhere, and perhaps not very far off.' He looked at me and closed his eyes."



            And the boatswain murmured in an aside:



            "Land? Land? Ah, Borupt and his accomplices knew very well what they were about! While we were shut up in the bottom of the hold, they altered the course; they went some hundreds of miles away before they cast us adrift in this boat—in seas where a ship is hardly ever seen, I guess."



            The young man had risen. He stooped, listening to port.



            "Didn't you hear anything, Block?" he asked.



            "Nothing, nothing at all," the boatswain answered; "this swell is as noiseless as if it were made of oil instead of water."



            The young man said no more, but sat down again with his arms folded across his breast.



            Just at this moment one of the passengers sat up, and exclaimed, with a gesture of despair :



            "I wish a wave would smash this boat up, and swallow us all up with it, rather than that we should all be given over to the horrors of starvation! To-morrow we shall have exhausted the last of our provisions. We shall have nothing left at all."



            "To-morrow is to-morrow, Mr. Wolston," the boatswain replied. "If the boat were to capsize there wouldn't be any to-morrow for us; and while there is a to-morrow –"



            "John Block is right," his young companion answered. "We must not give up hope, James! Whatever danger threatens us, we are in God's hands, to dispose of as He thinks fit. His hand is in all that comes to us, and it is not right to say that He has withdrawn it from us."



            "I know," James whispered, drooping his head, "but one is not always master of one's self."



            Another passenger, a man of about thirty, one of those who had been sitting in the bows, approached John Block and said:



            "Bo'sun, since our unfortunate captain was thrown into this boat with us—and that is a week ago already—it is you who have taken his place. So our lives are in your hands. Have you any hope?"



            "Have I any hope?" John Block replied. "Yes! I assure you I have. I hope these infernal calms will come to an end shortly and that the wind will take us safe to harbour."



            "Safe to harbour?" the passenger answered, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness of the night.



            "Well, what the deuce!" John Block exclaimed. '' There is a harbour somewhere! All we have to do is to steer for it, with the wind whistling through the yards. Good Lord! If I were the Creator I would show you half a dozen islands lying all round us, waiting our convenience!"



            "We won't ask for as many as that, bo'sun," the passenger replied, unable to refrain from smiling.



            "Well," John Block answered, "if He will drive our boat towards one of those which exist already, it will be enough, and He need not make any islands on purpose, although, I must say, He seems to have been a bit stingy with them hereabouts!"



            ''But where are we?"



            "I can't tell you, not even within a few hundred miles,'' John Block replied. "You know that for a whole long week we were shut up in the hold, unable to see what course the ship was shaping, whether south or north. Anyhow, it must have been blowing steadily, and the sea did plenty of rolling and chopping."



            "That is true, John Block, and true, too, that we must have gone a long way; but in what direction?"



            "About that I don't know anything," the boatswain declared. "Did the ship go off to the Pacific, instead of making for the Indian Ocean? On the day of the mutiny we were off Madagascar. But since then, as the wind has blown from the west all the time, we may have been taken hundreds of miles from there, towards the islands of Saint Paul and Amsterdam."



            "Where there are none but savages of the worst possible sort," James Wolston remarked. "But after all, the men who cast us away are not much better."



            "One thing is certain," John Block declared; "that wretch Borupt must have altered the Flag's course and made for waters where he will be most likely to escape punishment, and where he and his gang will play pirates! So I think that we were a long way out of our proper course when this boat was cut adrift. But I wish we might strike some island in these seas—even a desert island would do! We could live all right by hunting and fishing; we should find shelter in some cave. Why shouldn't we make of our island what the survivors of the Landlord made of New Switzerland? With strong arms, brains, and pluck –"



            "Very true," James Wolston answered, "but the Landlord did not fail her passengers. They were able to save her cargo, while we shall never have anything from the Flag's cargo."



            The conversation was interrupted. A voice that rang with pain was heard:



            "Drink! Give me something to drink!"



            "It's Captain Gould," one of the passengers said. "He is eaten up with fever. Luckily there is plenty of water, and –"



            "That's my job," said the boatswain. "Do one of you take the tiller. I know where the can is, and a few mouthfuls will give the captain ease."



            And John Block left his seat aft and went forward into the bows of the boat.



            The three other passengers remained in silence, awaiting his return.



            After being away for two or three minutes John Block came back to his post.



            "Well?" someone enquired.



            "Someone got there before me," John Block answered. "One of our good angels was with the patient already, pouring a little fresh water between his lips, and bathing his forehead that was wet with sweat. I don't know whether Captain Gould was conscious. He seemed to be delirious. He was talking about land. 'The land ought to be over there,' he kept saying, and his hand was wobbling about like the pennon on the mainmast when all winds are blowing at once. I answered: ' Ay, ay, captain, quite so. The land is somewhere! We shall reach it soon. I can smell it, to northwards.' And that is a sure thing. We old sailors can smell land like that. And I said too: 'Don't be uneasy, captain, everything is all right. We have a stout boat and I will keep her course steady. There must be more islands hereabouts than we could know what to do with. Too many to choose from! We shall find one to suit our convenience—an inhabited island where we shall find a welcome and where we shall be sent home from.' The poor chap understood what I said, I am sure, and when I held the lantern near his face he smiled to me—such a sad smile!—and at the good angel too. Then he closed his eyes again, and fell asleep almost at once. Well! I may have lied pretty heavily when I talked about land to him as if it were only a few miles off, but was I far wrong?"



            "No, Block," the youngest passenger replied ; "that is the kind of lie that God allows."



            The conversation ended, and the silence was only broken thereafter by the flapping of the sail against the mast as the boat rolled from one side to the other. Most of those who were aboard her, broken down by fatigue and weakened by long privation, forgot their terrors in heavy sleep.



            Although these unhappy people still had something wherewith to quench their thirst, they would have nothing wherewith to appease their hunger in the coming days. Of the few pounds of salt meat that had been flung into the boat when she was pushed off, nothing now remained. They were reduced to one bag of sea-biscuits for eleven people. How could they manage, if the calm persisted % And for the last forty-eight hours not one breath of breeze had stolen through the stifling atmosphere, not even one of those intermittent gusts which are like the last sighs of a dying man. It meant death by starvation, and that within a short time.



            There was no steam navigation in those days. So the probability was that, in the absence of wind, no ship would come into sight, and, in the absence of wind, the boat could not reach land, whether island or continent.



            It was necessary to have perfect faith in God to combat utter despair, or else to possess the unshakeable philosophy of the boatswain, which consisted in refusing to see any but the bright side of things. Even now he muttered to himself:



            "Ay, ay, I know; the time will come when the last biscuit will have been eaten; but as long as one can keep one's stomach one mustn't grumble, even if there is nothing to put in it! Now, if one hadn't got a stomach left, even if there were plenty to put in it—that would be really serious!"



            Two hours passed. The boat had not moved a cable's length, for there was only the motion of the swell to affect her. Now the swell does not move forward; it merely makes the surface of the water undulate. A few chips of wood that had been thrown over the side the day before were still floating close by, and the sail had not filled once to move the boat away from them.



            While merely afloat like this, it was little use to remain at the helm. But the boatswain declined to leave his post. With the tiller under his arm, he tried at least to avoid the lurching which tilted the boat to one side and another, and thus to spare his companions excessive shaking.



            It was about three o'clock in the morning when John Block felt a light breath pass across his cheeks, roughened and hardened as they were by the salt sea air.



            "Can the wind be getting up?" he murmured as he rose.



            He turned towards the south, and, wetting his finger in his mouth, held it up. There was a distinct sensation of coldness, caused by the evaporation, and now a distant rippling sound became audible.



            He turned to the passenger sitting on the middle bench, near one of the women.



            "Mr. Fritz!" he said.



            Fritz Robinson raised his head and bent round.



            "What do you want, bo'sun?" he asked.



            "Look over there—towards the east."



            "What do you think you see?"



            "If I'm not mistaken, a kind of rift, like a belt, on the water-line."



            Unmistakably there was a lighter line along the horizon in that direction. Sky and sea could be distinguished with more definiteness. It was as if a rent had just been made in the dome of mist and vapour.



            "It's wind!" the boatswain declared.



            "Isn't it only the first beginning of daybreak?" the passenger asked.



            "It might be daylight, though it's very early for it," John Block replied, "and again it might be a breeze! I felt something of it in my beard just now, and look!—it's twitching still! I'm aware it's not a breeze to fill the top-gallant sails, but anyhow it's more than we've had for the last four and twenty hours. Put your hand to your ear, Mr. Fritz, and listen; you'll hear what I heard."



            "You are right," said the passenger, leaning over the gunwale; "it is the breeze."



            "And we're ready for it," the boatswain replied, "with the foresail block and tackle. We've only got to haul the sheet taut to save all the wind which is rising."



            "But where will it take us?"



            "Wherever it likes," the boatswain answered; "all I want it to do is to blow us out of these cursed waters!''



            Twenty minutes went by. The breath of wind, which at first was almost imperceptible, grew stronger. The rippling aft became louder. The boat made a few rougher motions, not caused by the slow, nauseating swell. Folds of the sail spread out, fell flat, and opened again, and the sheet sagged against its cleats. The wind was not strong enough yet to fill the heavy canvas of the foresail and the jib. Patience was needed, while the boat's head was kept to her course as well as might be by means of one of the sculls.



            A quarter of an hour later, progress was marked by a light wake.



            Just at this moment one of the passengers who had been lying in the bows got up and looked at the rift in the clouds to the eastward.



            "Is it a breeze?" he asked.



            '' Yes,'' John Block answered. ''1 think we have got it this time, like a bird in the hand— and we won't let go of it!"



            The wind was beginning to spread steadily now through the rift, through which, too, the first gleams of light must come. From southeast to south-west, the clouds still hung in heavy masses, over three-quarters of the circumference of the sky. It was still impossible to see more than a few cables' lengths from the boat, and beyond that distance no ship could have been detected.



            As the breeze had freshened, the sheet had to be hauled in, the foresail, whose gear was slackened, hoisted, and the course veered a point or two, so as to give the jib a hold on the wind.



            "We've got it; we've got it!" the boatswain said cheerily, and the boat, heeling gently over to starboard, dipped her nose into the first waves.



            Little by little the rent in the clouds grew bigger and spread overhead. The sky assumed a reddish hue. It seemed that the wind might hold to the present quarter for some little time, and that the period of calms had come to an end.



            Hope of reaching land revived once more, or the alternative hope of falling in with a ship.



            At five o'clock the rent in the clouds was ringed with a collar of vivid coloured clouds. It was the day, appearing with the suddenness peculiar to the low latitudes of the tropical regions. Soon purple rays of light arose above the horizon, like the sticks of a fan. The rim of the solar disc, heightened by the refraction, touched the horizon line, drawn clearly now at the end of sky and sea. At once the rays of light caught on the little clouds which hung in the high heaven, and dyed them every shade of crimson. But they were stubbornly arrested by the dense vapours accumulated in the north, and could not break through them. And so the range of vision, long behind, was still extremely limited in front. The boat was leaving a long wake behind her now, marked in creamy white upon the greenish water.



            And now the whole sun emerged above the horizon, enormously magnified at its diameter. No haze dimmed its brilliance, which was insupportable to the eye. All aboard the boat looked away from it; they only scanned the north, whither the wind was carrying them. The main question was what the fog screened from them in that direction.



            At length, just before half-past six, one of the passengers seized the halyards of the foresail and clambered nimbly up to the yardarm, just as the sun cleared the sky to the eastward with its early rays.



            And in a ringing voice he shouted:



            "Land!"



CHAPTER II - IN ENGLAND



            IT was on the 20th of October that the Unicorn had left New Switzerland on her way back to England. On her return, when the Admiralty sent to take possession of the new colony in the Indian Ocean, after a brief stop at the Cape of Good Hope, she was to bring back Fritz and Frank Zermatt, Jenny Montrose and Dolly Wolston. The two brothers took the berths left vacant by the Wolstons who were now settled on the island. A comfortable cabin had been placed at the disposal of Jenny and her little companion Dolly, who was going to join James Wolston and his wife and child at Cape Town.



            After rounding the False Hope Point the Unicorn sailed westward before the wind and came down to the south again, leaving the island of Burning Rock to her starboard. Before finally leaving New Switzerland Lieutenant Littlestone decided to reconnoitre its eastern coast as well, in order to satisfy himself that it really was an isolated island in these seas, and to form an approximate idea of the size of a colony which would soon be included among the island dominions of Great Britain. As soon as he had done this, the corvette, with a fair wind behind her, left the island to the north-west, after getting little more than a glimpse of its southern portion through the haze and fog.



            Fortune favoured the first few weeks of the voyage. The passengers on the Unicorn were delighted with the weather, as well as with the cordial treatment which they received from the commander and the other officers. When they all met at table in the officers' mess, or under the awning on the poop, the conversation generally turned upon the wonders of New Switzerland. If the corvette met with nothing to delay her they all hoped to see it again within the year.



            Fritz and Jenny often talked of Colonel Montrose, and of the gladness that would be his when he clasped in his arms the daughter whom he had thought he would never see again. For three years no news had been received of the Dorcas, whose loss with nearly all hands had been confirmed, by the survivors who had been taken to Sydney. But when they reached England Jenny would present to her father the man who had rescued her, and would beg him to bless their union.



            As for Frank, though Dolly Wolston was only fourteen, it would not be without a bitter pang that he would leave her at Cape Town, and keen would be his longing to come back to her side!



            After crossing the Tropic, off the Isle of France, the Unicorn encountered less favourable winds. These delayed her arrival at her port until the 17th of December, two months after her departure from New Switzerland.



            The corvette came to anchor in the harbour of Cape Town, where she was to remain for a week.



            One of the first visitors to come aboard was James Wolston. He knew that his father, mother, and two sisters had taken passages on the Unicorn, and his disappointment can be imagined at finding that there was only one sister for him to meet. Dolly presented Fritz and Frank Zermatt to him.



            "Your father and mother and sister Hannah are living in New Switzerland now, Mr. Wolston," Fritz told him; "an unknown island on which my family was cast twelve years ago, after the wreck of the Landlord. They have decided to remain there and expect you to join them. When she comes back from Europe the Unicorn will take you and your wife and child to our island, if you are willing to go with us."



            "When is the corvette due back at the Cape?" James Wolston enquired.



            "In eight or nine months," Fritz replied, "and she will go from here to New Switzerland where the British flag will be flying. My brother Frank and I have availed ourselves of this opportunity to take back to London the daughter of Colonel Montrose who, we hope, will consent to come and settle with her in our second fatherland."



            "And with you too, Fritz dear; for you will have become his son," Jenny added, giving him her hand.



            '' That is my most ardent wish, Jenny dear,'' said Fritz.



            "And we and our parents do very much want you to bring your family and settle in New Switzerland," Dolly Wolston added.



            "You must insist on the fact, Dolly," Frank declared, "that our island is the most wonderful island that has ever appeared above the sea."



            "James will be the first to agree, when he has seen it," Dolly answered. "When once you have set foot in New Switzerland, and stayed at Rock Castle –"



            "And roosted at Falconhurst, eh, Dolly?" said Jenny, laughing.



            "Yes, roosted," the little girl replied; "well, then you will never want to leave New Switzerland again!"



            "You hear Mr. Wolston?" said Fritz.



            "I hear, M. Zermatt," James Wolston answered. "To settle in your island and open up its first commercial relations with Great Britain is a proposition that I find peculiarly inviting. My wife and I will talk about it, and if we decide to go we will wind up our affairs and hold ourselves in readiness to embark upon the Unicorn when she comes back to Cape Town. I am sure Susan will not hesitate."



            "I will do whatever my husband wishes," Mrs. Wolston said.



            Fritz and Frank shook James Wolston's hand warmly as Dolly kissed her sister-in-law.



            "While the corvette stays here," James Wolston then explained, "we expect you all to accept the hospitality of our house. That will be the best way to knit our friendship, and we will talk as much as you please about New Switzerland."



            Naturally the passengers on the Unicorn accepted this invitation in the spirit in which it had been offered.



            An hour later Mr. and Mrs. James Wolston received their guests. Fritz and Frank were given a room between them, and Jenny shared the one allotted to Dolly, as she had shared her cabin during the voyage.



            Mrs. James Wolston was a young woman of twenty-four, gentle, intelligent, and devoted to her husband. He was an earnest and active man, very much like his father. They had one boy, Bob, now five years old, whom they adored.



            During the ten days that the Unicorn remained in the port, from the 17th to the 27th of December, little was talked about but New Switzerland, the events of which it had been the stage, the various works undertaken, and the many contrivances and improvements effected on the island. The subject was never exhausted. Dolly would expatiate on all these wonderful things, and Frank would encourage her to go on, and even find fault with her for not saying enough. Then Jenny Montrose would embroider the tale, to Fritz's keen delight.



            In a word, the time sped, and James Wolston and his wife quite made up their minds to leave the Cape for New Switzerland. During the voyage of the corvette home and out again, Wolston would employ himself winding up his affairs and realising his capital; he would be ready to start directly the Unicorn reappeared; and he would be one of the first emigrants to the island.



            The last good-byes had to be said at length, with the comforting reflection that in another eight or nine months they would be at Cape Town again, and that then they would all put to sea together, outward bound for New Switzerland. Nevertheless, the parting was a painful one. Jenny Montrose and Susan Wolston mingled their kisses and tears, to which Dolly's were added. The child was much distressed by Frank's departure, and his heart, too, was heavy, for he had grown very fond of her. As he and his brother clasped James Wolston's hand they could assure themselves that they were leaving there a true friend indeed.



            The Unicorn put to sea on the 27th, in somewhat overcast weather. Her passage was of average length. For several weeks winds varied from north-west to south-west. The corvette spoke Saint Helena, Ascension, and the Cape Verde Islands. Then, after passing in sight of the Canaries and Azores, off the coasts of Portugal and France, she came up the Channel, rounded the Isle of Wight, and, on the 14th of February, dropped anchor at Portsmouth.



            Jenny Montrose wanted to start at once for London, where her aunt lived. If the Colonel were on active service she would not find him there, since the campaign for which he had been recalled from India might have lasted for several years. But if he had retired, he would have settled near his sister-in-law, and it would be there that he would at length set eyes again upon her whom he believed to have perished in the wreck of the Dorcas.



            Fritz and Frank offered to escort Jenny to London, whither business called them also, and Fritz naturally wanted to meet Colonel Montrose soon. So all three set out the same evening, and arrived in London during the morning of the 23rd.



            But bitter grief fell upon Jenny Montrose. She learned from her aunt that the colonel had died during his last campaign, without the happiness of knowing that the daughter whom he had mourned for was still alive.



            After coming back from the far waters of the Indian Ocean to embrace her father, hoping never to part from him again, to present her saviour to him, and to beg for his consent to their union and his blessing on it, Jenny would never see him more!



            Her distress was great. In vain her aunt lavished on her words of consolation; in vain Fritz sorrowed with her. The blow was too cruel. She had never even thought of the possibility that her father might be dead.



            A few days later, in a conversation broken by tears and regrets, Jenny said to him:



            "Fritz, dear Fritz, we have just experienced the bitterest of misfortunes, you and I. If you have not changed your mind at all –"



            "Oh, Jenny, my darling!" Fritz exclaimed.



            "Yes, I know,'' said Jenny,'' and my father would have been happy to call you his son. I am sure he would have wanted to go with us and share our life in the new English colony. But I must give up that happiness. I am alone in the world now, and have only myself to depend upon! Alone t No, no! You are there, Fritz."



            "Jenny," said the young man, "the whole of my life shall be devoted to your happiness."



            "And mine to yours, Fritz dear! But since my father is no longer here to give us his consent, since I have no near relations living, and since yours is the only family I can call my own –"



            "You have belonged to it three years already, Jenny dear, ever since the day when I found you on Burning Rock."



            "I love them all, and they love me, Fritz! Well, in a few months more we shall be with them all again; we shall be back –"



            "Married, Jenny?"



            "Yes, Fritz, if you wish it, since you have your father's consent and my aunt will not refuse me hers."



            "Jenny, dear Jenny!" Fritz exclaimed, falling on his knees beside her. "Our plans will not be changed at all, and I shall take back my wife to my father and mother."



            Jenny Montrose remained henceforth in her aunt's house, where Fritz and Frank came €very day to see her. Meanwhile all the necessary arrangements were made for the celebration of the marriage within the briefest time that the law permitted.



            But there was other business of some importance to be attended to, business which had been the purpose of the two brothers in coming to Europe.



            There was the sale of the various articles of value collected on the island, the coral gathered on Whale Island, the pearls taken from the bay, the nutmegs and the vanilla. M. Zermatt had not been mistaken about their market value. They produced the considerable sum of eight thousand pounds sterling.



            When one remembered that the banks of Pearl Bay had been no more than skimmed, that coral was to be found on many parts of the coast, that nutmegs and vanilla could be produced in large quantities, and that there were many other treasures in New Switzerland, one had to acknowledge that the colony was destined for a height of prosperity which set it in the foremost of the over-sea dominions of Great Britain.



            In accordance with M. Zermatt's instructions part of the sum realised from the sale of these articles was to be spent upon things required to complete the stock at Rock Castle and the farms in the Promised Land. The rest, about three-quarters of the whole sum, and the ten thousand pounds coming from Colonel Montrose's estate, were deposited in the Bank of England, upon which M. Zermatt would be able to draw in the future as he might require, thanks to the communication which would soon be established with the capital.



            Restitution was made of the various jewels and monies belonging to the families of those who had been lost with the Landlord, who had been traced after enquiry.



            Finally, a month after the arrival of Fritz Zermatt and Jenny Montrose in London, their marriage was celebrated there by the chaplain of the corvette. The Unicorn had brought them as an engaged couple, and would take them back to New Switzerland a married couple.



            All these events excited a considerable interest throughout Great Britain in the family which had been abandoned for a dozen years on an unknown island in the Indian Ocean, and in Jenny's adventures and her stay on Burning Rock. The story which had been written by Jean Zermatt appeared in the English and foreign newspapers, and under the title of "The Swiss Family Robinson," it was destined to a fame equal to that won already by the immortal work of Daniel Defoe.



            The consequence of all this was that the Admiralty decided to take possession of New Switzerland. Moreover, this new possession had some very considerable advantages to offer. The island occupied an important position in the east of the Indian Ocean, near the entrance to the Sunda seas, on the road to the Far East. Seven hundred and fifty miles at most separated it from the western coast of Australia. The sixth part of the world, discovered by the Dutch in 1605, visited by Abel Tasman in 1644 and by Captain Cook in 1774, was destined to become one of England's principal dominions. Thus the Admiralty could but congratulate itself on its acquisition of an island so near that continent.



            And thus the despatch of the Unicorn to its waters was decided upon. The corvette would set out again in a few months under the command of Lieutenant Littlestone, promoted captain on this occasion. Fritz and Jenny Zermatt were to sail in her with Frank, and also a few colonists, pending the time when other emigrants, in larger numbers, would sail in other ships to the same destination.



            It was arranged that the corvette should put in at the Cape to pick up James and Susan and Dolly Wolston.



            The lengthy stay of the Unicorn at Portsmouth was due to the fact that repairs of some magnitude had become absolutely necessary after her voyage from Sydney to Europe.



            Fritz and Frank did not spend the whole of this time in London or in England. They and Jenny regarded it as a duty to visit Switzerland, so as to be able to take to M. and Mme. Zermatt some news of their native land.



            So they went first to France, and spent a week in Paris. The Empire had just ended at this date, as also had the long wars with Great Britain.



            Fritz and Frank arrived in Switzerland, the country which they had almost forgotten, so young had they been when they left it, and from Geneva they went to the canton of Appenzel.



            Of their family none remained except a few distant relatives of whom M. and Mme. Zermatt knew little. But the arrival of the two young men caused a great sensation in the Swiss Republic. Everybody knew the story of the survivors of the wreck of the Landlord, and knew the island now on which they had found refuge. Thus, although their fellow-countrymen were little inclined to run the risks involved in emigration, several declared their intention of joining those colonists to whom New Switzerland promised a cordial welcome.



            It was not without a pang that Fritz and Frank left the land of their origin. Even if they might hope to visit it again in the future, that was a hope which M. and Mme. Zermatt, advancing now in years, would hardly realise.



            Crossing France, Fritz and Jenny and Frank returned to England.



            Preparations for the sailing of the Unicorn were drawing to a close, and the corvette would be ready to set sail in the last few days of June.



            Both Fritz and Frank were received with nattering attention by the Lords of the Admiralty. England was grateful to Jean Zermatt for having of his own free will offered Captain Littlestone immediate possession of his island.



            As has been explained, when the corvette left New Switzerland, the greatest portion of the island was still unexplored, save the district of the Promised Land, the littoral on the north, and part of the littoral on the east as far as Unicorn Bay. Captain Littlestone was therefore to complete its survey both on the west and south and also in the interior. In a few months more, several ships would be fitted out to take emigrants and the materials required in colonisation and to put the island in a proper state of defence. Then regular communication would he established between Great Britain and those distant waters of the Indian Ocean.



            On the 27th of June the Unicorn was ready to weigh anchor, and only waited for Fritz and Jenny and Frank. On the 28th the three arrived at Portsmouth, whither the stores purchased on behalf of the Zermatt family had been sent in advance.



            They were warmly welcomed aboard the corvette by Captain Littlestone, whom they had had one or two opportunities of meeting in London. How happy they were in the thought of seeing James and Susan Wolston again at Cape Town, and also the charming little Dolly, whom Frank had kept constantly supplied with news, and good news too, of everybody.



            In the morning of the 29th of June, the Unicorn left Portsmouth with a fair wind, flying at the peak the English flag which was to be planted upon the shores of New Switzerland.



CHAPTER III - THE MUTINY ON THE FLAG



            A CABIN was reserved for Fritz and his wife in the Unicorn, and an adjoining one for Frank, and they took their meals at Captain Littlestone's table.



            Nothing of special note happened during the voyage. There were all the usual incidents, changeable seas, uncertain winds, calms, and a few violent outbreaks of heavy weather through which the corvette came without much damage. In the South Atlantic they passed a few vessels which would report tidings of the Unicorn in Europe. In the present interval of peace after the long period of great wars, the high seas were safe.



            But the Unicorn, which had had a fairly easy time while crossing the Atlantic, met with shocking weather when south of Africa. A violent storm burst on her during the night of the 19th of August, and the gale drove her out to sea again. The hurricane grew more and more violent, and they had to run before it, as it was impossible to lie to. Captain Littlestone, splendidly supported by his officers and crew, displayed great skill. The mizzen mast had to be cut away, and a leak was sprung aft which was only smothered with difficulty. At last, when the wind fell, Captain Littlestone was able to resume his course and hurried to the harbour at Cape Town for repairs.



            On the morning of the 10th of September the top of the Table, the mountain which gives its name to the bay, was sighted.



            Directly the Unicorn had found her moorings, James Wolston, with his wife and Dolly, came out in a boat.



            What a welcome they gave Fritz and Jenny and Frank, and how happy they all were!



            For the last ten months they had perforce been without news. Although there was no particular ground for imagining that anything untoward had befallen the people at Rock Castle, this absence could not but seem very long.



            James Wolston's affairs had all been wound up satisfactorily.



            But they found themselves confronted by the impossibility of putting to sea at once. The damage done to the Unicorn was serious enough to necessitate a prolonged stay in Cape Town harbour. It would take two or three months to make repairs, after her cargo had been taken out of the corvette. She could not possibly sail for New Switzerland before the end of October.



            But the passengers on the Unicorn had an unexpected opportunity of shortening their stay at the Cape.



            There happened to be in the harbour a vessel, due to sail in a fortnight. She was the Flag, an English three-masted vessel of five hundred tons, captain Harry Gould, bound for Batavia, in the Sunday Islands. To put in at New Switzerland would take her very little out of her course, and the passengers for the island were prepared to pay a good price for their passage.



            Their proposal was accepted by Captain Gould, and the Unicorn's passengers transferred their baggage to the Flag.



            The three-master's preparations were finished in the afternoon of the 20th of September. That evening they said good-bye, not without regret, to Captain Littlestone, promising to look out for the arrival of the Unicorn at the mouth of Deliverance Bay towards the end of November.



            Next morning the Flag sailed, with a favouring wind from the south-west, and before the evening of that first day the high summits of the Cape, left forty miles behind, disappeared below the horizon.



            Harry Gould was a fine sailor, with cool courage equal to his resolution. He was now in the prime of life, at forty-two, and had shown his quality both as mate and captain. His owners had every confidence in him.



            To this confidence, Robert Borupt, the second officer on the Flag, was not entitled. He was a man of the same age as Harry Gould, jealous, vindictive, and of uncontrolled passions. He never believed that he received the due meed of his merits. Disappointed in his hope of being given the command of the Flag, he nursed at the bottom of his heart a secret hatred of his captain. But his temper had not escaped the vigilance of the boatswain, John Block, a fearless, reliable man devoted heart and soul to his chief.



            The crew of the Flag, mustering some score of men, was not of the first-class, as Captain Gould very well knew. The boatswain noticed with disapproval the indulgence too often shown by Robert Borupt to some of the sailors, when fault should have been found with them for neglect of duty. He thought that all this was suspicious, and he watched the second officer, fully determined to give Captain Gould warning, if needful.



            Nothing of note happened between the 22nd of August and the 9th of September. The condition of the sea and the direction of the wind were alike favourable to the ship's progress, though the breeze was a shade too light. If the three-master were able to maintain the same rate of progress she would reach New Switzerland waters about the middle of October, within the time anticipated.



            But about this time the crew began to manifest symptoms of insubordination. It even looked as though the second and third officers, in defiance of every sense of duty, connived at this relaxing of discipline. Robert Borupt, influenced by his own jealous and perverse nature, took no steps to check the disorder.



            But the Flag continued to make her way north-east. On the 9th of September she was almost in the middle of the Indian Ocean, on the line of the Tropic of Capricorn, her position being 20° 17' latitude and 80° 45' longitude.



            During the course of the previous night symptoms of bad weather had appeared—a sudden fall of the barometer, and a gathering of storm clouds, both signs of the formidable hurricanes that too often lash these seas to fury.



            About three o'clock in the afternoon a squall got up so suddenly that it almost caught the ship—a serious matter for a vessel which, heeled over to one side, cannot answer to her rudder and is in danger of not being brought up again unless her rigging is cut away. If that is done, she is disabled, incapable of offering any resistance to the waves while lying to, and is at the mercy of the ocean's fury.



            As soon as this storm broke the passengers had, of course, been obliged to keep their cabins, for the deck was swept by tremendous seas. Only Fritz and Frank stayed on deck to lend a hand with the crew.



            Captain Gould took the watch at the outset, and the boatswain was at the wheel, while the second and third officers were on duty in the forecastle. The crew were at their posts, ready to obey the captain's orders, for it was a matter of life and death. The slightest mistake in the handling of her, while the seas were breaking over the Flag as she lay half over on the port side, might have meant the end. Every effort must be made to get her up again, and then to trim her sails so as to bring her head on to the squall.



            And yet the mistake was made, not deliberately perhaps, for the ship ran the risk of foundering through it, but certainly through some misunderstanding of the captain's orders, of which an officer ought not to have been capable, if he possessed any of the instincts of a sailor.



            Robert Borupt, the second officer, alone was to blame. The foretopsail, trimmed at a wrong moment, drove the ship still farther over, and a tremendous lump of water crashed over the taffrail.



            "That cursed Borupt wants to sink us!" cried Captain Gould.



            "He has done it!" the boatswain answered, trying to shove the tiller to starboard.



            The captain leaped to the deck and made his way forward at the risk of being swept back by the water. After a desperate struggle he reached the forecastle.



            "Get to your cabin!" he shouted in a voice of wrath to the second officer; "get to your cabin, and stop there!"



            Borupt's blunder was so patent that not one of the crew dared to protest, although they were all ready to stand by him if he had given them the word. He obeyed, however, and went back to the poop.



            What was possible to do, Captain Gould did. He trimmed all the canvas that the Flag could carry, and succeeded in bringing her up without being obliged to cut away the rigging. The ship no longer lay broadside on to the sea.



            For three consecutive days they had run before the storm in constant peril. During almost the whole of that time Susan and Jenny and Dolly were obliged to keep to their cabins, while Fritz, Frank, and James Wolston helped in the various operations.



            At last, on the 13th of September, an abatement of the storm came. The wind dropped, and although the sea did not immediately drop too, at last the waves no longer swept the deck of the Flag.



            The ladies hurried eagerly out of their cabins. They knew what had taken place between the captain and the second officer, and why the latter had been removed from his post. Robert Borupt's fate would be decided by a naval court when they got back.



            There was much damage to the canvas to be made good, and John Block, who was in charge of this work, saw quite clearly that the crew were on the verge of mutiny.



            This state of things could not be lost upon Fritz, or Frank, or James Wolston, and it filled them with more uneasiness than the storm had caused them. Captain Gould would not shrink from the severest measures against the mutineers. But was he not too late?



            During the following week there was no actual breach of discipline. As the Flag had been carried some hundreds of miles to the east, she had to turn back to the west, in order to get into the longitude of New Switzerland.



            On the 20th of September, about ten o'clock, much to the surprise of all, for he had not been released from arrest, Robert Borupt reappeared on the deck.



            The passengers, who were all sitting together on the poop, had a presentiment that the situation, grave enough already, was about to become still more grave.



            Directly Captain Gould saw the second officer coming forward he went up to him.



            "Mr. Borupt," he said, "you are under arrest. What are you doing here! Answer!"



            '' I will!'' cried Borupt loudly. ' 'And this is my answer!"



            Turning to the crew, he shouted:



            "Come on, mates!"



            "Hurrah for Borupt!" sang from every part of the ship!



            Captain Gould rushed down into his cabin and came back with a pistol in his hand. But he was not given time to use it. A shot, fired by one of the sailors round Borupt, wounded him in the head, and he fell into the boatswain's arms.



            Resistance was hopeless against an entire crew of mutineers, headed by the first and second officers. John Block, Fritz, Frank, and James Wolston, drawn up near Captain Gould tried in vain to maintain the struggle. In a moment they were overwhelmed by numbers, and ten sailors hustled them down to the spar-deck with the captain.



            Jenny, Dolly, Susan, and the child were shut into their cabins, over which a guard was placed by order of Borupt, now ruler of the ship.



            The situation of the prisoners in the semi-darkness of the spar-deck, and of the wounded captain whose head could only be dressed with cold compresses, was a hard one. The boatswain was unfailing in his devotion to the captain.



            Fritz and Frank and James Wolston were consumed by appalling anxiety. The three women were at the mercy of the mutineers of the Flag! The men suffered agony from the thought that they were powerless.



            Several days passed. Twice a day, morning and evening, the hatch of the spar-deck was opened and the prisoners were given some food. To the questions that John Block asked them, the sailors only replied with brutal threats.



            More than once did the boatswain and his companions try to force up the hatch and regain their liberty. But the hatch was guarded day and night, and even if they had succeeded in raising it, overpowering their guards, and getting up on deck, what chance would they have had against the crew, and what would have been the result?



            "The brute! The brute!" said Fritz over and over again, as he thought of his wife and Susan and Dolly.



            "Yes; the biggest rascal alive!" John Block declared. "If he doesn't swing some day it will be because justice is dead!"



            But if the mutineers were to be punished, and their ringleader given the treatment he deserved, a man-of-war must catch and seize the Flag. And Robert Borupt did not commit the blunder of going into waters where ships were numerous, and where he and his gang might have run the risk of being chased. He must have taken the ship far out of her proper course, most probably to the eastward, with the object of getting away alike from ships and the African and Australian shores.



            Every day was adding a hundred, or a hundred and fifty, miles to the distance separating the Flag from the meridian of New Switzerland. Captain Gould and the boatswain could tell from the angle at which the ship heeled to port that she was making good speed. The creaking of the mast steps showed that the first officer was cramming on sail. When the Flag arrived in those distant waters of the Pacific Ocean where piracy was practicable, what would become of the prisoners? The mutineers would not be able to keep them; would they maroon them on some desert island? But anything would be better than to remain on board the ship, in the hands of Robert Borupt and his accomplices.



            A week had passed since Harry Gould and his friends had been shut up on the spar-deck, without a word about the women. But on the 27th of September, it seemed as if the speed of the three-master had decreased, either because she was becalmed or because she was hove to.



            About eight o'clock in the evening a squad of sailors came down to the captives.



            These had no choice but to obey the order to follow him which the second officer gave them.



            What was going on above? Was their liberty about to be restored to them? Or had a party been formed against Robert Borupt to restore Captain Gould to the command of the Flag?



            When they were brought up on to the deck in front of all the crew, they saw Borupt waiting for them at the foot of the mainmast. Fritz and Frank cast a vain glance within the poop, the door of which was open. No lamp or lantern shed a gleam of light within.



            But as they came up to the starboard nettings, the boatswain could see the top of a mast rocking against the side of the ship.



            Evidently the ship's boat had been lowered to the sea.



            Was Borupt preparing, then, to put the captain and his friends aboard her and cast them adrift in these waters, abandoning them to all the perils of the sea, without the least idea whether they were near any land?



            And the unfortunate women, too, were they to remain on board, exposed to such appalling danger?



            At the thought that they would never see them more, Fritz and Frank and James determined to make a last attempt to set them free, though it should end in dying where they stood.



            Fritz rushed to the side of the poop, calling Jenny. But he was stopped, as Frank was stopped, and James was stopped before he heard any answer from Susan to his call. They were overpowered at once, and despite resistance were lowered with Captain Gould and John Block over the nettings into the ship's boat, which was fastened alongside the vessel by a knotted cable.



            Their surprise and joy—yes, joy!—were inexpressible. The dear ones whom they had called in vain were in the boat already! The women had been lowered down a few minutes before the prisoners had left the spar-deck. They were waiting in mortal terror, not knowing whether their companions were to be cast adrift with them.



            It seemed to them that to be reunited was the greatest grace that Heaven could have bestowed on them.



            And yet what peril menaced them aboard this boat! Only four bags of biscuit and salt meat had been flung into it, with three casks of fresh water, a few cooking utensils, and a bundle of clothes and blankets taken at random from the cabins—a meagre supply at best.



            But they were together! Death alone could separate them henceforward.



            They were not given much time to reflect. In a few moments, with the freshening wind, the Flag would be several miles away.



            The boatswain had taken his place at the tiller, and Fritz and Frank theirs at the foot of the mast, ready to hoist the sail directly the boat should be free from the shelter of the ship.



            Captain Gould had been laid down under the forward deck. Jenny was ministering to him where he lay stretched out on the blankets, for he was unable to stand.



            On the Flag the sailors were leaning over the nettings, looking on in silence. Not one of them felt a spark of pity for their victims. Their fierce eyes gleamed in the darkness.



            Just at this moment a voice was raised—the voice of Captain Gould, to whom his indignation restored some strength. He struggled to his feet, dragged himself from bench to bench, and half stood up.



            "You brutes!" he cried. "You shall not escape man's justice!"



            "Nor yet God's justice!" Frank added.



            "Cast off!" cried Borupt.



            The rope dropped into the water, the boat Was left alone, and the ship disappeared into the darkness of the night.



CHAPTER IV - LAND AHOY!



            IT was Frank who had shouted "Land!" in tones of stentorian salutation. Standing erect upon the poop, he had thought he could see vague outlines of a coast through a rift in the fog. So he seized the halyards and scrambled to the masthead where, sitting astride the yard, he kept his eyes fixed steadily in the direction where he had seen it.



            Close upon ten minutes passed before he caught another glimpse to the northward. He slid to the foot of the mast.



            "You saw the coast?" Fritz asked sharply. "Yes, over there; under the rim of that thick cloud which hides the horizon now."



            "Are you sure you were not mistaken, Mr. Frank?" John Block said.



            "No, bos'un, no, I was not mistaken! The cloud has spread over the place again now, but the land is behind it. I saw it; I swear I saw it!"



            Jenny had just risen and grasped her husband's arm.



            "We must believe what Frank says," she declared. "His sight is wonderfully keen. He could not make a mistake."



            "I haven't made a mistake," Frank said. "You must all believe me, as Jenny does. I saw a cliff distinctly. It was visible for nearly a minute through a break in the clouds. I couldn't tell whether it ran to the east or the west; but, island or continent, the land is there!"



            How could they be sceptical about what Frank declared so positively?



            To what land the coast belonged they might learn when the boat had reached it. Anyhow, her passengers, five men, namely Fritz and Frank and James, Captain Gould and the boatswain John Block, and three women, Jenny, Dolly, and Susan, together with the child, would most certainly disembark upon its coast, whatever it might be.



            If it offered no resources, if it were uninhabitable, or if the presence of natives made it dangerous, the boat would put to sea again, after revictualing as well as possible.



            Captain Gould was immediately informed and, in spite of his weakness and pain, he insisted on being carried to the stern of the boat.



            Fritz began to make some comments about the signalled land.



            "What is of the most concern to us at the present moment, is its distance from here. Given the height from which it was observed, and also the foggy state of the atmosphere, the distance cannot be more than twelve or fifteen miles."



            Captain Gould made a sign of assent, and the boatswain nodded.



            "So with a good breeze blowing towards the northward," Fritz went on, "two hours should be enough to take us to it."



            "Unfortunately," said Frank, "the breeze is very uncertain, and seems to be inclined to go back. If it doesn't drop altogether I am afraid it may be against us."



            "What about the oars?" Fritz rejoined. "Can't we take to the oars, my brother and James, and I, while you take the tiller, bos'un? We could row for several hours."



            "Take to the oars!" Gould commanded, in an almost inaudible voice.



            It was a pity that the captain was not in a fit state to steer, for, with four of them to row, the crew might have made a better job of it.



            Besides, although Fritz and Frank and James were in the full vigour of youth, and the boatswain was a sturdy fellow still, and all were thoroughly hardened to physical exercise, yet they were terribly weakened now by privation and fatigue. A week had passed since they had been cast adrift from the Flag. They had economised their provisions, yet only enough remained to last them for twenty-four hours. On three or four occasions they had caught a few fish by trailing lines behind the boat. A little stove, a little kettle, and a saucepan were all the utensils they possessed, besides their pocket knives. And if this land were no more than a rocky island, if the boat were obliged to resume her painful course for more long days, looking for a continent or an island where existence might be possible— what then?



            But all felt hope reviving again. Instead of the boat that was threatened by squalls and tossed about by the waves and half filled by the sea, they would at least feel firm ground under their feet. They would install themselves in some cave to shelter there from bad weather. Perhaps they would find a fertile soil, with edible roots and fruits. And there they would be able to await the passing of a ship, without need to fear hunger or thirst The ship would see their signals, would come to the rescue of the castaways—all that and more they saw through the mirage of hope!



            Did the coast thus seen belong to some group of islands situated beyond the Tropic of Capricorn? That was what the boatswain and Fritz discussed in undertones. Jenny and Dolly had resumed their seats in the bottom of the boat, and the little boy was sleeping in Mrs. Wolston's arms. Captain Gould, eaten up with fever, had been carried back under the poop, and Jenny was soaking compresses in cold water to lay upon his head.



            Fritz propounded many theories, none of them very encouraging. He was pretty sure that the Flag had sailed a long way to the east during the week after the mutiny. In that case the boat would have been cast adrift in that part of the Indian Ocean where the charts show only a few islands, Amsterdam and Saint Paul, or, farther south, the archipelago of Kerguelen. Yet even in these islands, the former deserted, the latter inhabited, life would be assured, salvation certain, and—who could say?—some day or other they might be able to get home from there.



            Besides, if since the 27th of September, the ship's boat had been carried northwards by the breeze from the south, it was just possible that this land was part of the Australian continent. If they got to Hobart Town, Melbourne, or Adelaide, they would be safe. But if the boat landed in the south-west portion, in King George's Bay or by Cape Leeuwin, a country inhabited by hordes of savages, the position would be more serious. Here at sea there was at least a chance of falling in with a ship bound for Australia or some of the Pacific Islands.



            "Anyhow, Jenny," said Fritz to his wife, who had taken his place by her side again, "we must be a long way—hundreds of miles— from New Switzerland."



            "No doubt," Jenny answered, "but it is something that land is there! What your family did in your island, and what I did on the Burning Rock, we can do again, can't we?



            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!



            The animal kingdom was represented by a few sea-birds, gulls, black-divers, sea-mews, and swallows, which uttered deafening cries at finding their solitude disturbed by the presence of man. Higher up, great frigate-birds, halcyons and albatrosses sailed on powerful wings.



            "Well," said the boatswain at last, "even if this shore is not so good as yours in New Switzerland, that's no reason for not landing on it."



            "Then let us land," Fritz answered. "I hope we shall find somewhere to shelter at the foot of the cliff."



            "Yes, let us land," said Jenny.



            "Dear wife," said Fritz, "I advise you to remain here in the boat, with Mrs. Wolston and Dolly, while we make our trip. There is no sign of danger, and you have nothing to be afraid of."



            "Besides," the boatswain added, "we most likely shan't go out of sight."



            Fritz jumped on to the sand, followed by the others, while Dolly called out cheerfully:



            "Try to bring us back something for dinner, Frank! We are relying upon you."



            "We must rely upon you rather, Dolly,"



            Frank replied. "Put out some lines at the foot of those rocks."



            "We had better not land," Mrs. Wolston agreed. "We will do our best while you are away."



            "The great thing," Fritz remarked, "is to keep what little biscuit we have left, in case we are obliged to put to sea again."



            "Now, Mrs. Fritz," John Block said, "get the stove going. We are not the kind of people to be satisfied with lichen soup or boiled pebbles, and we promise to bring you something solid and substantial."



            The weather was fairly fine. Through the clouds in the east a few sun-rays filtered.



            Fritz, Frank, James, and the boatswain trudged together along the edge of the shore, over sand still wet from the last high tide.



            Ten feet or so higher the sea-weeds lay in zig-zag lines.



            Some were of kinds which contain nutritive substances, and John Block exclaimed:



            "Why, people eat that—when they haven't got anything else! In my country, in Irish sea-ports, a sort of jam is made of that!"



            After walking three or four hundred yards in this direction, Fritz and his companions came to the foot of the bastion to the west. Formed of enormous rocks with slippery surfaces, and almost perpendicular, it plunged straight down into the clear and limpid water which the slight surf scarcely disturbed. Its foundations could be seen seven or eight fathoms below.



            To climb along this bastion was quite impossible for it rose perpendicularly. It would be necessary to scale the cliff in order to find out if the upper plateau displayed a less arid surface. Moreover, if they had to abandon the idea of climbing this bastion it meant that they could only get round it by means of the boat. The matter of present urgency, however, was to look for some cavity in the cliff wherein they could take shelter.



            So all went up to the top of the beach, along the base of the bastion.



            When they reached the corner of the cliff, they came upon thick layers of sea-weeds, absolutely dry. As the last water-marks of the high tide were visible more than two hundred yards lower down, this meant—the steep pitch of the shore being taken into account—that these plants had been thrown up so far, not by the sea, but by the winds from the south, which are very violent in these waters.



            "If we were obliged to spend the winter here," Fritz remarked, "these sea-weeds would supply us with fuel for a long time, if we could not find any wood."



            "Fuel that burns fast," the boatswain added. "Before we came to the end of heaps like that, of course            . But we have still got something to boil the pot with to-day. Now we must find something to put in it!"



            "Let's look about," Frank answered.



            The cliff was formed by irregular strata. It was easy to recognise the crystalline nature of these rocks, where feldspar and gneiss were mixed, an enormous mass of granite, of plutonic origin and extreme hardness.



            This formation recalled in no respect to Fritz and Frank the walls of their own island from Deliverance Bay to False Hope Point, where limestone only was found, easily broken by pick or hammer. It was thus that the grotto of Rock Castle had been fashioned. Out of solid granite, any such work would have been impossible.



            Fortunately there was no need to make any such attempt. A hundred yards from the bastion, behind the piles of sea-wrack, they found a number of openings in the rock. They resembled the cells of a gigantic hive, and possibly gave access to the inside of the rock.



            There were indeed several cavities at the foot of this cliff.



            While some provided only small recesses, others were deep and also dark, owing to the heaps of sea-weed in front of them. But it was quite likely that in the opposite part, which was less exposed to the winds from the sea, some cavern opened into which they might carry the stores from the boat.



            Trying to keep as near as possible to where the boat was moored, Fritz and his companions walked towards the eastern bastion. They hoped to find this more practicable than the other, because of its elongated outline in its lower portion, and thought that they might be able to get round it. Although it stood up sheer in its upper portion, it sloped towards the middle and ended in a point by the sea.



            Their anticipations were not disappointed. In the corner formed by the bastion was a cave quite easy of access. Sheltered from the easterly, northerly, and southerly winds, its position exposed it only to the winds from the west, less frequent in these regions.



            The four men went inside this cave, which was light enough for them to see all over it. It was some twelve feet high, twenty feet wide, and fifty or sixty feet deep, and contained several unequal recesses forming, as it were, so many rooms set round a common hall. It had a carpet of fine sand, free from any trace of damp. Entrance to it was through a mouth which could be easily closed.



            "As I am a boatswain," John Block declared, "we couldn't have found anything better!"



            "I agree," Fritz replied. "But what worries me is that this beach is absolute desert, and I am afraid the upper plateau may be so too."



            "Let us begin by taking possession of the cave, and we will attend to the rest presently."



            "Oh!" said Frank. ''That is not much like our house at Rock Castle, and I don't even see a stream of fresh water to take the place of our Jackal River!"



            "Patience! Patience!" the boatswain answered. "We shall find some spring all right by and by among the rocks, or else a stream coming down from the top of the cliff."



            "Anyhow," Fritz declared, "we must not think of settling on this coast. If we do not succeed in getting round the base of those bastions on foot we must take the boat and reconnoitre beyond them. If it is a small island we have come ashore upon, we will only stay long enough to set Captain Gould up again. A fortnight will be enough, I imagine."



            "Well, we have the house, at all events," John Block remarked. "As for the garden, who is to say that it isn't quite close by—on the other side of this point, perhaps?"



            They left the cave and walked down across the beach, so as to get round the bastion.



            From the cave to the first rocks washed by the sea at the half-ebb was about two hundred yards. On this side there were none of the heaps of sea-weeds found on the left-hand side of the beach. This promontory was formed of heavy masses of rocks which seemed to have been broken off from the top of the cliff. At the cave it would have been impossible to cross it, but nearer the sea it was low enough to get across.



            The boatswain's attention was soon caught by a sound of running water.



            A hundred feet from the cave, a stream murmured among the rocks, escaping in little liquid threads.



            The stones were scattered here, which enabled them to reach the bed of a little stream fed by a cascade that came leaping down to lose itself in the sea.



            "There it is! There it is! Good fresh water!" John Block exclaimed, after a draught taken up in his hands.



            "Fresh and sweet!" Frank declared when he had moistened his lips with it.



            "And why shouldn't there be vegetation on the top of the cliff," John Block enquired, "although that is only a stream?"



            "A stream now," Fritz said, "and a stream which may even dry up during the very hot weather, but no doubt a torrent in the rainy season."



            "Well, if it will only flow for a few days longer," the boatswain remarked philosophically, "we won't ask anything more of it."



            Fritz and his companions now had a cave in which to establish their quarters, and a stream which would enable them to refill the boat's casks with fresh water. The chief remaining question was whether they could provide themselves with food.



            Things did not look too promising. After crossing the little river the explorers had a fresh and deep disappointment.



            Beyond the promontory a creek was cut into the coast, in width about half a mile, fringed with a rim of sand, and enclosed behind by the cliff. At the far end rose a perpendicular bluff, whose foot was washed by the sea.



            This shore presented the same arid appearance as the other. Here, too, the vegetable growths were confined to patches of lichen and layers of sea-weeds thrown up by the tide. Was it, then, on a mere islet, a rocky, lonely, uninhabitable island in the Pacific Ocean, that the boat had come ashore? There seemed every reason to fear so.



            It appeared useless to carry the exploration as far as the bluff which enclosed the creek. They were about to go back to the boat when James stretched out his hand towards the shore and said:



            "What is that I see down there on the sand? Look—those moving specks. They look like rats."



            From the distance it did, indeed, look as if a number of rats were on march together towards the sea.



            '' Rats?'' said Frank enquiringly. "The rat is game, when he belongs to the ondatra genus. Do you remember the hundreds we killed, Fritz, when we made that trip after the boa-constrictor?"



            "I should think I do, Frank," Fritz answered ; "and I remember, too, that we did not make much of a feast off their flesh, which reeked too much of the marsh."



            "Right!" said the boatswain. "Properly cooked, one can eat those beggars. But there's no occasion to argue about it. Those black specks over there aren't rats."



            "What do you think they are, Block?" Fritz asked.



            "Turtles."



            "I hope you are right."



            The boatswain's good eyesight might have been trusted. There actually was a crowd of turtles crawling over the sand.



            So while Fritz and James remained on watch on the promontory, John Block and Frank slid down the other side of the rocks, in order to cut off the band of chelones.



            These tortoises were small, measuring only twelve or fifteen inches, and long in the tail. They belonged to a species whose principal food consists of insects. There were fifty of them, on march, not towards the sea, but towards the mouth of the stream, where a quantity of sticky laminariae, left by the ebb tide, were soaking.



            On this side the ground was studded with little swellings, like bubbles in the sand, the meaning of which Frank recognised at once.



            "There are turtles' eggs under those!" he exclaimed.



            "Well, dig up the eggs, Mr. Frank," John Block replied. "I'll belay the fowls! That's certainly ever so much better than my boiled pebbles, and if little Miss Dolly isn't satisfied –"



            "The eggs will be warmly welcomed, Block, you may be sure," Frank declared.



            "And the turtles, too; they are excellent beasts—excellent for making soup, I mean!"



            A moment later the boatswain and Frank had turned a score of them over on to their backs. They were quite helpless in that position. Laden with half a dozen of them, and twice as many eggs, they went back towards the boat.



            Captain Gould listened eagerly to John Block's story. Since he had been spared the shaking of the boat his wound had been paining him less, the fever was beginning to go down, and a week's rest would certainly put him on his feet again. Wounds in the head, unless they are exceptionally serious, generally heal easily and soon. The bullet had only grazed the surface of the skull, after tearing away part of the cheek; but it had been within an ace of going through the temple. A speedy improvement could now be looked for in the condition of the wounded man, thanks to the rest and care which he could now obtain.



            It was with much satisfaction Captain Gould learned that turtles abounded in this bay, which was named Turtle Bay in their honour. It meant the guarantee of a wholesome and plentiful food, even for a considerable time. It might even be possible to preserve some of it in salt and load the boat with it when the time came to put to sea again.



            For of course they would have later to seek a more hospitable shore to the northward, if the table-land at the top of the cliff proved to be as unfertile as that of Turtle Bay, if it had no woods or grass lands, if, in short, the land on which the passengers of the Flag had come ashore proved to be nothing more than a mere heap of rocks.



            "Well, Dolly, and you, too, Jenny," said Frank when he got back, "are you satisfied? How has the fishing gone while we have been away?"



            "Pretty well," Jenny answered, pointing to several fish lying on the poop.



            "And we've got something better than that to offer you," added Dolly, merrily.



            "What's that, then?" Fritz asked.



            "Mussels," the girl answered. "There are heaps of them at the foot of the promontory. Look at those boiling in the saucepan now!"



            "Congratulations!'' said Frank. '' And you owe us congratulations, too, Jenny, for we have not come back empty-handed. Here are some eggs –"



            "Hens' eggs?" Bob exclaimed eagerly.



            "No; turtles'," Frank replied.



            "Turtles' eggs?" Jenny repeated. "Did you find turtles?"



            "A regiment of them," the boatswain told her; "and there are lots more; there are enough to last us all the time we shall be at anchor in the bay."



            "Before we leave this bay," Captain Gould put in, " I think we ought to reconnoitre along the coast, or climb to the top of the cliff."



            "We'll try it, captain," John Block answered. '' But don't let's be in a greater hurry than we need be, since it is possible to exist here without touching what we have left of the biscuit."



            "That's what I think, Block."



            "What we want, captain," Frank went on, "is that you should have a rest to allow your wound to heal, and you to get back your strength. A week or two is nothing to spend here. When you are on your feet again you will have a look at things for yourself, and you will decide what is best to be done."



            During the morning they proceeded to unload the boat of all that it contained, the bag of biscuit, the casks, the fuel, the utensils, and the clothing, and everything was carried within the cave. The little stove was set up in the corner of the bastion, and was first employed in making the turtle soup.



            As for Captain Gould, he was carried to the cave by Fritz and the boatswain; a comfortable bed was waiting ready for him, made of dry sea-weed by Jenny and Dolly, and there he was able to enjoy several hours' sleep.



CHAPTER VI - TIME OF TRIAL



            IT would have been difficult to find better quarters than those provided by this cave. The various recesses hollowed out inside it made capital separate rooms.



            It was a trifling disadvantage, that these recesses, which were of varying depth, were rather dark during the day, and that the cave itself was never very light. For, except in bad weather, it would only be occupied at night. At earliest dawn Captain Gould would be carried outside, to drink in the salt, invigorating air and bask in the sunshine.



            Inside the cave Jenny arranged to occupy one of the recesses with her husband. A larger one, sufficient to accommodate all three of them, was taken possession of by James Wolston and his wife and little Bob. Frank contented himself with a corner in the large hall, where he shared the company of the skipper and the boatswain.



            The remainder of the day was given up entirely to rest. The boat's passengers had to recuperate after the many emotions of this last week and the awful trial they had endured so bravely.



            Wisdom dictated their resolution to spend a fortnight in this bay, where material existence seemed to be secured for some time to come. Even if the Captain's condition had not required that they should do so, John Block would not have advised an immediate departure.



            In the evening, after a second meal of turtle soup, and turtle flesh and eggs, Frank led them in prayer, and all went into the cave. Captain Gould, thanks to the ministrations of Jenny and Dolly, was no longer shaking with fever. His wound now closing, gave him less pain. He was progressing rapidly towards complete recovery.



            To keep a watch during the night was needless. There was nothing to fear on this lonely shore, neither savages nor wild beasts. It was unlikely that these gloomy and depressing wastes had ever been visited by man before. The stillness was only broken by the harsh and melancholy cry of the sea-birds as they came home to their crannies in the cliff. The breeze died gradually away, and not a breath of air stirred till the rising of the sun.



            The men were out at daybreak. First of all John Block went down the beach along the promontory and made for the boat. It was still floating but would soon be left high and dry by the ebb tide. Being fastened by hawsers on both sides, it had not bumped against the rocks, even when the tide was at its highest, and as long as the wind continued to blow from the east it could come to no harm. In the event of the wind veering to the south they would see if it was necessary to look for other moorings. Meantime the weather seemed to be definitely set fair, and this was the fine season.



            When he got back the boatswain sought out Fritz and spoke to him about this.



            "It's worth giving a little thought to," he said. "Our boat comes before everything else. A snug cave is fine. But one doesn't go to sea in a cave, and when the time comes for us to leave—if it ever does come—it's important that we shouldn't be prevented from doing so."



            "Of course, Block," Fritz answered. "We will take every possible care to prevent the boat coming to harm. Do you think perhaps there is a better mooring for her on the other side of the promontory?''



            "We'll see, sir, and since everything is all right on this side I will go round to the other and hunt turtles. Will you come with me?"



            "No, Block. Go alone. I am going back to the captain. This last good night's rest must have reduced the fever. When he wakes he will want to discuss the situation. I must be there to tell him all that has happened."



            "Quite right, Mr. Fritz; and mind you tell him that there is nothing to be uneasy about at present."



            The boatswain went to the far end of the promontory, and sprang from rock to rock across the creek towards the place where he and Frank had come upon the turtles the day before.



            Fritz returned to the cave, up to which Frank and James were busy bringing armfuls of sea-weed. Mrs. Wolston was dressing little Bob. Jenny and Dolly were still with the captain. In the corner of the promontory the fire crackled under the stove, and the kettle began to boil, white steam escaping from its spout.



            When Fritz had finished his conversation with the captain, he and Jenny went down to the beach. They walked a little way and then turned back under the lofty cliff which enclosed them like a prison wall.



            Fritz spoke in tones of deep emotion.



            "Dear wife, I must talk to you of what is in my heart. I can see you with me in the canoe after I had found you upon Burning Rock. And then our meeting with the pinnace, and our return to Rock Castle with all the others! Two happy years slipped by with nothing to mar their quiet happiness! You were the joy and charm of our circle. We were so accustomed to life under those conditions that it seemed as if there were no world outside our island. And if it had not been for the thought of your father, beloved, perhaps we should not have sailed on the Unicorn—perhaps we should never have left New Switzerland."



            "Why do you talk now of this, Fritz, dear?" said Jenny, greatly moved.



            "I want to tell you how heavy my heart has been since ill fortune has set in upon us. Yes! I am full of remorse at having brought you to share it with me!"



            "You must not fear ill fortune," Jenny answered. "A man of your courage, your energy, will not give way to despair, Fritz."



            "Let me finish, Jenny! One day the Unicorn arrived, over there, off New Switzerland. She went away again, and took us to Europe. From that moment misfortune has never ceased to strike you. Colonel Montrose died before he could see his child –"



            "Poor father!" said Jenny, her eyes wet. "Yes, that happiness was withheld from him— of clasping me in his arms, and rewarding my rescuer by placing my hand in his. But God willed otherwise, and we must submit."



            "Well, Jenny dear," Fritz went on, "at all events there you were, back in England; you had seen your own land again; you might have remained there with your own people and found quiet happiness."



            "Happiness! Without you, Fritz?''



            "And then, Jenny, you would not have incurred fresh dangers, after all those which you had escaped so miraculously. Yet you consented to follow me back to our island again."



            "Do you forget that I am your wife, Fritz? Could I have hesitated to leave Europe, to rejoin all those whom I love, your family, which is mine henceforward?"



            "But Jenny, Jenny, that does not make it less true that I drew you into fresh danger— and danger that I cannot think of without panic. Our present situation is desperate. Oh! those mutineers who caused it all, who cast us adrift! And you, shipwrecked once in the Dorcas, now cast again upon an unknown island even less habitable than Burning Rock!"



            "But I am not alone; I have you, and Frank, and our friends, brave and determined men. Fritz, I shrink from no dangers present or to come! I know that you will do everything possible for our safety."



            "Everything, my darling," Fritz exclaimed, "but though the thought that you are there must double my courage, yet it also grieves me so much that I want to throw myself at your knees and beg for your forgiveness! It is my fault that –"



            "Fritz," she answered, clinging to him, "no one could possibly have foreseen the things which have happened—the mutiny, and our being cast adrift at sea. Far better forget the ill fortune and contemplate only the good! We might have been murdered by the crew of the Flag, or doomed to the tortures of hunger and thirst in the boat. We might have perished in some storm. But instead we have reached a land which is not quite without resources, which at least gives us shelter. If we do not know what land it is we must try to find out, and we will leave it if we find that we must."



            "To go—whither, my poor Jenny?"



            "Somewhere else, as our dear boatswain would say; to go wherever God wills that we shall!"



            "My dear wife!" Fritz exclaimed. "You have given me back my courage! Yes! We will fight on; we will not give way to despair. We will think of the precious lives that are confided to our care. We will save them! We will save them—with the help of God!"



            "On whom we never call in vain!" said Frank, who had overheard the last words spoken by his brother. "Let us keep our trust in Him, and He will not forsake us!"



            Under Jenny's encouragement Fritz recovered all his energy. His companions were as ready as he was to spend themselves in superhuman efforts.



            About ten o'clock, as the weather was fine,



            Captain Gould was able to come and stretch himself in the sun at the far end of the promontory. The boatswain returned from his trip round the creek as far as the foot of the bluff to the east. Beyond that it was impossible to go. Even at low tide it would have been useless to attempt to get round the foot of this huge rock, about which the surf beat violently.



            John Block had been joined by James in the creek, and both brought back turtles and eggs. These chelones swarmed upon the shore. In anticipation of an early departure it would be possible to lay in a large stock of their flesh, which would secure a supply of food for the passengers.



            After luncheon the men talked while Jenny, Polly, and Susan busied themselves washing the spare linen in the fresh water of the stream. It would dry quickly in the sun, for the day was hot. Afterwards, all the clothes were to be mended, so that everybody might be ready to go aboard the boat again directly it should be decided to make a start.



            They had important questions to answer. What was the geographical position of this land? Was it possible to ascertain it without instruments, within a few degrees, taking the position of the sun at noon as a basis for calculation? Such an observation could not be absolutely accurate. But to-day it seemed to confirm the opinion, already advanced by Captain Gould, that this land must lie between the fortieth and thirtieth parallels. What meridian crossed it from north to south there were no means of ascertaining, although the Flag must have been somewhere in the western waters of the Pacific Ocean.



            Then the idea of reaching the upper plateau came up again. Pending the recovery of the captain, was it not necessary to find out whether the boat had come ashore on a continent, an island, or a mere islet? As the cliff was seven or eight hundred feet high it was quite possible that some other land might be visible a few miles out at sea. So Fritz and Frank and the boatswain made up their minds to climb to the top of the cliff.



            Several days passed without bringing any change in the situation. Every one realised the necessity of escaping from it somehow or other, and all were seriously afraid that it might become worse. The weather remained fine. The heat was great, but there was no thunder.



            On several occasions John Block and Fritz and Frank had walked round the bay from the western bastion as far as the bluff. In vain had they looked for a gorge or less precipitous slope by which they might gain the plateau above. The wall rose sheer.



            Meantime the captain approached complete recovery. His wound was healed, though it was still bandaged. The attacks of fever had become more and more rare, and had now ceased. His strength was coming back slowly, but he could now walk unsupported. He was always talking to Fritz and the boatswain of the chances of another voyage in the boat northward. On the morning of the 25th, he was able to go as far as the foot of the bluff, and agreed that it was impossible to walk round the base of it.



            Fritz, who had accompanied him, with Frank and John Block, offered to dive into the sea and so get to the shore beyond. But although he was an excellent swimmer, there was such a current running at the foot of the bluff that the captain was obliged to order the young man not to put this dangerous idea into execution. Once borne away by the current, who could say if Fritz could have got back to the shore?



            "No," said Captain Gould, "it would be rash, and there is no good in running into danger. We will go in the boat to reconnoitre that part of the coast, and if we go a few cables' length out, we shall be able to get a more extended view of it. Unfortunately I am very much afraid that it will be found to be as barren everywhere as it is here."



            "You mean that we are on some islet?" Frank remarked.



            "There is reason to suppose so," the captain replied.



            "Very well," said Fritz, "but does it follow that this islet is an isolated point? Why should it not be part of some group of islands lying to the north, east, or west?"



            "What group, my dear Fritz?" the captain retorted. "If, as everything goes to show, we are in Australian or New Zealand waters here, there is no group of islands in this part of the Pacific."



            "Because the charts don't show any, does it follow that there aren't any?" Fritz remarked. "The position of New Switzerland was not known and yet –"



            "Quite true," Harry Gould replied; "that was because it lies outside the track of shipping. Very seldom, practically never, do ships cross that bit of the Indian Ocean where it is situated, whereas to the south of Australia the seas are very busy, and no island, or group of any size, could possibly have escaped the notice of navigators."



            "There is still the possibility that we are somewhere near Australia,'' Frank went on.



            "A distinct possibility," the captain answered, "and I should not be surprised if we are at its south-west extremity, somewhere near Cape Leeuwin. In that case we should have to fear the ferocious Australian natives.''



            "And so," the boatswain remarked, "it is better to be on an islet, where at any rate one is sure not to run up against cannibals.''



            "And that is what we should probably know if we could get to the top of the cliff," Frank added.



            "Yes," said Fritz; "but there isn't a single place where we can do it."



            "Not even by climbing up the promontory?" Captain Gould asked.



            "It is practicable, although very difficult, as far as half way," Fritz answered, "but the upper walls are absolutely perpendicular. We should have to use ladders, and even then success isn't certain. If there were some chimney which we could get up with ropes, it might perhaps be possible to reach the top, but there isn't one anywhere."



            "Then we will take the boat and reconnoitre the coast," said Captain Gould.



            "When you are completely recovered, captain, and not before," replied Fritz firmly. "It will be several days yet before –"



            "I am getting better, Fritz," the captain declared ; "how could it be otherwise, with all the attention I have? Mrs. Wolston and your wife and Dolly would have cured me merely by looking at me. We will put to sea in forty-eight hours at latest."



            "Westward or eastward?" Fritz asked.



            "According to the wind," the captain replied.



            "And I have an idea that this trip will be a lucky one," the boatswain put in.



            Fritz, Frank, and John Block had already done all but the impossible in their attempts to scale the promontory. They had got about two hundred feet up, although the gradient was very steep, by slipping from one rock to the .next in the very middle of a torrent of landslides, with the agility of chamois or ibex; but a third of the way up they had come to a stop. It had been a highly dangerous attempt, and the boatswain had come within an ace of breaking some of his bones.



            But from that point all their attempts to continue the ascent were in vain. The promontory ended here in a vertical section with a smooth surface. There was not a foothold anywhere, not the tiniest projection on which the boat's ropes might have been caught. And they were still six or seven hundred feet from the top of the cliff.



            When they returned to the cave Captain Gould explained the decision which had been reached. Two days hence, on the 27th of October, the boat was to leave her moorings to go along the coast. Had a trip of several days' duration been involved, everybody would have gone in the boat. But as only a general reconnaissance was contemplated, he thought it would be better that only he should go with Fritz and the boatswain. They three would be enough to handle the boat, and they would not go farther away to the north than they must. If they found that the coast-line bounded nothing more than an islet they could make the circuit of it and be back within twenty-four hours.



            Short as their absence might be, the idea of it excited great uneasiness. The rest of the party would not be able to see their companions go without much anxiety. How could they tell what might happen? Suppose they were attacked by savages—suppose they could not get back soon—suppose they did not come back at all?



            Jenny used these arguments with characteristic energy. She insisted that the many anxieties they endured already should not be added to by others arising from an absence which might be prolonged. Fritz sympathised with her arguments, Captain Gould accepted them, and ultimately it was agreed that they should all take part in the projected exploration.



            As soon as this decision had been arrived at, to the general satisfaction, John Block got busy putting the boat in order. Not that it required any repairs, for it had come to little harm since it had been cast adrift, but it was well to overhaul it and fit it up in anticipation of a possible extension of the voyage to some adjoining land. So the boatswain worked his hardest to make it more comfortable, enclosing the fore-deck so that the women might have shelter from squalls and breaking waves.



            There was nothing more to do but wait, and meanwhile lay in provisions for a voyage which might perhaps be longer than was intended. Besides, if it were necessary to leave Turtle Bay finally, ordinary prudence suggested that they should do so without delay, that they should take advantage of the fine season just beginning in these southern regions.



            They could not but quail before the idea of a winter here. True, the cave offered them a sure shelter against the storms from the south, which are appalling in the Pacific. The cold, too, could no doubt be faced, for there would be no lack of fuel, thanks to the enormous collection of sea-weed at the foot of the cliff.



            But suppose the turtles failed? Would they be reduced to fish as sole diet! And the boat— where could they put that in safety, out of reach of the waves which must break right up to the back of the beach in the winter? Would they be able to haul it up above the highest tide-marks? Harry Gould and Fritz and the rest had only their own arms to rely on, not a tool, not a lever, not a lifting-jack, and the boat was heavy enough to resist their united efforts.



            At this time of year there was happily nothing but passing storms to fear. The fortnight that they had spent ashore had enabled them all to pick up their moral and physical strength as well as to recover confidence.



            Their preparations were completed in the morning of the 26th. Fritz observed with some uneasiness that clouds were beginning to gather in the south. They were still a long way off, but were assuming a lurid hue. The breeze was almost imperceptible, yet the heavy mass of cloud was rising in a solid body. If this thunderstorm burst it would burst full upon Turtle Bay.



            Hitherto the rocks at the far end of the promontory had protected the boat from the easterly winds. From the other side, too, the westerly winds could not have touched it, and firmly held as it was by hawsers, it might have escaped too severe a buffeting. But if a furious sea swept in from the open main, it would be unprotected and might be smashed to pieces.



            It was useless to think of trying to find some other mooring on the other side of the bluff or of the bastion, for, even in calm weather, the sea broke there with violence.



            "What's to be done?" Fritz asked the boatswain, and the boatswain had no answer.



            One hope remained—that the storm might blow itself out before it fell upon the coast. But as they listened they could hear a distant rumbling, although the wind was very faint. The sea was roaring out there in the distance, and already intermittent flaws were sweeping over its surface, giving it a livid tint.



            Captain Gould gazed at the horizon.



            "We are in for a bad spell," Fritz said to him.



            "I am afraid we are," the captain acknowledged ; "as bad a spell as our worst fears could have imagined!"



            "Captain," the boatswain broke in, "this isn't a time to sit and twiddle one's thumbs. We've got to use a little elbow grease, as sailor-men say."



            "Let us try to pull the boat up to the top of the beach," said Fritz, calling James and his brother.



            "We will try," Captain Gould replied. "The tide is coming up and will help us. Meanwhile let us begin by lightening the boat as much as we can."



            All buckled to. The sails were laid upon the sand, the mast unstepped, the rudder unshipped, and the seats and spars were taken out and carried within the cave.



            By the time the tide was slack the boat had been hauled about twenty yards higher up. But that was not enough; she would have to be pulled up twice as far again to be out of reach of the waves.



            Having no other tools, the boatswain pushed planks under the keel, and all combined to pull and push. But their efforts were useless: the heavy boat was fixed in the sand and did not gain an inch beyond the last high-water mark.



            When evening came the wind threatened a hurricane. From the piled clouds in the zenith flash after flash of lightning broke, followed by terrific peals of thunder, which the cliff reechoed in appalling reverberations.



            Although the boat had been left high and dry by the ebb tide, the waves, momentarily becoming stronger, would soon lift it up from the stern.



            And now the rain fell in big drops, so heavily charged with electricity that they seemed to explode as they struck the sand on the shore.



            "You can't stay outside any longer, Jenny, dear," said Fritz. "Do go back into the cave, I beg you! You, too, Dolly, and you too, Mrs. Wolston."



            Jenny did not want to leave her husband. But Captain Gould spoke authoritatively.



            "Go inside, Mrs. Fritz," he said.



            "You too, captain," she replied; "you must not expose yourself to a wetting yet."



            "I have nothing to fear now," Harry Gould answered.



            "Jenny, I tell you again, go back, there's no time to lose!" Fritz exclaimed.



            And Jenny, Dolly, and Susan took refuge in the cave just as the rain, in which hail was mingled, began to rattle down like grapeshot.



            Captain Gould and the boatswain, Fritz,



            Frank, and James remained near the boat, though it was with the utmost difficulty that they stood up against the squalls which swept the shore. The waves were breaking in the bay already and throwing their spray right over it.



            The danger was acute. Would it be possible to sustain the boat against the shocks which were rolling it from one side to the other? If it were broken up, how would Captain Gould and his companions be able to get away from this coast before the winter?



            All five stood by, and when the sea came farther up and lifted the boat, they hung on to its sides trying to steady it.



            Soon the storm was at its height. From twenty places at once tremendous flashes of lightning burst. When they struck the bastions they tore off fragments which could be heard crashing upon the heaps of sea-weed.



            An enormous wave, twenty-five or thirty feet high at least, was lifted up by the hurricane and dashed upon the shore like a huge waterspout.



            Caught in its grip Captain Gould and his companions were swept right up to the heaps of sea-weed, and it was only by a miracle that the enormous wave did not carry them back with it as it drew again to the sea!



            The disaster feared so much had befallen them!



            The boat, torn from its bed, swept up to the top of the beach and then carried down again to the rocks at the end of the promontory, was smashed, and its fragments, after floating for a moment in the creaming foam of the backwater, disappeared from view round the bend of the bluff!



CHAPTER VII - THE COMING OF THE ALBATROSS



            THE situation seemed worse than ever. While they were in the boat, exposed to all the perils of the sea, Captain Gould and his passengers at least had a chance of being picked up by some ship, or of reaching land. They had not fallen in with a ship. And although they had reached land, it was practically uninhabitable, yet it seemed they must give up all hope of ever leaving it.



            "Still," said John Block to Fritz, "if we had run into a storm like that out at sea, our boat would have gone to the bottom and taken us with it!"



            Fritz made no reply. He hurried through a deluge of rain and hail to take shelter with Jenny and Dolly and Susan, who were intensely anxious. Owing to its position in the corner of the promontory, the inside of the cave had not been flooded.



            Towards midnight, when the rain had stopped, the boatswain piled a heap of seaweed near the mouth of the cave. A bright fire soon blazed, drying their drenched clothes.



            Until the fury of the storm abated the whole sky was incessantly ablaze. The pealing thunder diminished as the clouds were driven rapidly towards the north. But as long as distant lightning continued to light up the bay, the wind blew with great force, lifting billows which plunged and broke wildly on the shore.



            At dawn the men came out of the cave. Tattered clouds were passing over the cliff. Some, hanging lower, skimmed the surface. During the night the lightning had struck it in several places. Huge fragments of rock lay at its base. But there was no sign of a new cleft or crevice into which it might be possible to squeeze, and so to reach the plateau above.



            Captain Gould, Fritz, and John Block took stock of what was left of the boat. It comprised the mast, the foresail and the jib, the rigging, the hawsers, the rudder, the oars, the anchor and its cable, the wooden seats, and the casks of fresh water. Some use could no doubt be made of most of these things, damaged as they were.



            "Fortune has tried us cruelly!" Fritz said. "If only we had not these poor women with us —three women and a child! What fate awaits them here on this shore, which we cannot even leave now!"



            Even Frank, with all his faith, kept silence this time. What could he say?



            But John Block was wondering whether the storm had not brought yet another disaster upon the shipwrecked company, for so they might well be described. Was there not good reason to fear that the turtles might have been destroyed by the breakers, and their eggs smashed as the sand was washed away? It would be an irreparable loss if this food supply failed.



            The boatswain made a sign to Frank to come to him, and said a few words in an undertone. Then both crossed the promontory and went down to the creek, intending to go over it as far as the bluff.



            While Captain Gould, Fritz, and James went towards the western bastion, Jenny and Dolly and Susan resumed their usual occupations—what might be called their household duties. Little Bob played on the sand in sublime indifference, waiting for his mother to prepare some soaked biscuit for him. Susan was overcome by grief and anxiety as she thought of the distress and want which her child might not have the strength to endure.



            After putting everything in order inside the cave, Jenny and Dolly came out and joined Mrs. Wolston. Then very sadly they talked of their present situation, which had been so sorely aggravated since the day before. Dolly and Susan were more overcome than the courageous Jenny.



            "What will become of us?" Susan asked.



            "Don't let us lose heart," Jenny answered, "and above all don't let us discourage our men."



            "But we can never get away now," Dolly said. "And when the rainy season comes—"



            "I tell you, Dolly, as I told Susan," Jenny answered, "that no good is done by giving up courage."



            "How can I keep any hope at all?" Mrs. Wolston exclaimed.



            '' You must! It's your duty to!" Jenny said. "Think of your husband; you will increase his misery a thousandfold if you let him see you cry."



            "You are strong, Jenny," Dolly said; "you have fought misfortune before. But we –"



            '' You?'' Jenny replied. '' Do you forget that Captain Gould and Fritz and Frank and James and John Block will do everything that is possible to save us all?"



            "What can they do?" Susan demanded.



            "I don't know, Susan, but they will succeed provided we don't hamper them by giving way ourselves to despair!"



            '' My child! My child!'' murmured the poor woman, choked by sobs.



            Seeing his mother crying, Bob stood in wonder, with his eyes wide open.



            Jenny drew him to her and took him on her knees.



            "Mummy was anxious, darling! She called you, and you didn't answer, and then—you were playing on the sand, weren't you?"



            "Yes," said Bob; "with the boat that Block made for me. But I wanted him to make a little white sail for it, so that it could sail. There are holes full of water in the sand where I can put it. Aunty Dolly promised to make me a sail."



            "Yes, Bob dear; you shall have it to-day," Dolly promised.



            "Two sails," the child answered; "two sails like the boat that brought us here."



            "Of course," Jenny answered. "Aunty Dolly will make you a lovely sail, and I will make you one, too."



            "Thank you, thank you, Jenny," Bob answered, clapping his hands. "But where is our big boat? I can't see it anywhere!''



            "It has gone away—fishing," Jenny answered. "It will come back soon, with lots of beautiful fish! Besides, you have got your own; the one that good John Block made for you."



            "Yes; but I am going to tell him to make me another, one in which I can sail—with papa and mama, and aunty Dolly and Jenny, and everybody!"



            Poor little fellow! He voiced so exactly what was wanted—the replacement of the boat —and how was that to be done?



            "Run away again and play, darling,'' Jenny said to him; "and don't go far away."



            "No; over there; quite close, Jenny!"



            And he kissed his mother and went bounding away as children of his age will.



            "Susan dear, and you, too, Dolly dear," said Jenny, "God will see that that little child is saved! And Bob's rescue means our own! I do beg of you, no more weakness, no more crying! Have faith in Providence as I have, as I have always had!''



            So Jenny spoke out of her brave heart. Come what might, she would never despair. If the rainy season set in before the shipwrecked people could leave this coast—and how could they leave it unless some ship took them off?—arrangements would be made to spend a winter there. The cave would give secure protection from the heavy weather. The heaps of sea-weed would give fuel to protect them from the cold. Fishing, hunting perhaps, would suffice to provide them with their daily bread.



            It was of the first importance to know whether John Block's fears about the turtles were well founded. Happily they were not. After being away for an hour, the boatswain and Frank came back with their accustomed load of turtles, which had taken refuge under the heap of kelp. But they had not a single egg.



            "Never mind, they will lay, good old things," said John Block cheerily.



            It was impossible not to smile at the boatswain's little joke. In the course of their walk to the bastion, Captain. Gould, Fritz, and James had seen again the impossibility of getting round it in any other way than by sea. Currents ran there, with tremendous force and in both directions. Even in calm weather the violent surf would have prevented any boat from getting close in, and the strongest swimmer might have been carried out to sea or dashed upon the rocks.



            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.



            If the albatross had come from so far, it was no doubt because these powerful birds can fly vast distances. Quite likely this one had come from the east of the Indian Ocean to these regions of the Pacific possibly more than a thousand miles away!



            Much petting was lavished upon the messenger from Burning Rock. It was like a link between the shipwrecked people and their friends in New Switzerland.



            Two days later the year 1817 reached its end.



            What did the new year hold in store?



CHAPTER VIII - LITTLE BOB LOST



            IF Captain Gould was not mistaken in his calculations about the geographical position of the island, the summer season could not have more than another three months to run. After that, winter would arrive, formidable by reason of its cold squalls and furious storms. The faint chance of attracting the attention of some ship out at sea by means of signals would have disappeared. In winter sailors avoid these dangerous waters. But just possibly something would happen before then to modify the situation.



            Existence was much what it had been ever since that gloomy 26th of October when the boat was destroyed. The monotony was terribly trying to such active men. With nothing to do but wander about at the foot of the cliff which imprisoned them, tiring their eyes with watching the ever deserted sea, they needed extraordinary moral courage not to give way to despair.



            The long, long days were spent in conversation in which Jenny bore the principal part.



            The brave young woman loved them all, taxed her ingenuity to keep their minds occupied, and discussed all manner of schemes, as to the utility of which she herself was under no misapprehension.



            Sometimes they wondered if the island really lay, as they had supposed, in the west of the Pacific. The boatswain expressed some doubt on this point.



            "Is it the albatross's coming that has changed your mind?" the captain asked him one day.



            "Well, yes, it has," John Block replied; "and I am right, I think."



            "You infer from it that this island lies farther north than we supposed, Block?"



            "Yes, captain; and, for all anybody knows, somewhere near the Indian Ocean. An albatross might fly hundreds of miles without resting, but hardly thousands."



            "I know that," Captain Gould replied, "but I know, too, that it was to Borupt's interest to take the Flag towards the Pacific! As for the week we were shut up in the hold, I thought, and so did you, that the wind was from the west."



            "I agree," the boatswain answered, "and yet, this albatross –, Has it come from near, or from far?"



            "And even supposing you are right, Block, even supposing we were mistaken about the position of this island, and that it really is only a few miles from New Switzerland, isn't that just as bad as if it were hundreds of miles off, seeing that we can't get away from it?"



            Captain Gould's conclusion was unfortunately only too reasonable. Everything pointed to the probability of the Flag having steered for the Pacific, far, very far, from New Switzerland's waters. And yet what John Block was thinking, others were thinking too. It seemed as if the bird from Burning Rock had brought hope with it.



            When the bird recovered from its exhaustion, which it speedily did, it was neither timid nor wild. It was soon walking about the beach, feeding on the berries of the kelp or on fish, which it was very clever in catching, and it showed no desire to fly away.



            Sometimes it would fly along the promontory and settle on the top of the cliff, uttering little cries.



            "Ah, ha!" the boatswain used to say then. '' He is asking us up! If only he could give me the loan of his wings I would willingly undertake to fly up there, and look over the other side. Very likely that side of the coast isn't any better than this one, but at any rate we would know."



            Know? Did they not know already, since Fritz had seen nothing but the same arid rocks and the same inaccessible heights beyond the bluff?



            One of the albatross's chief friends was little Bob. A comradeship had promptly been established between the child and the bird. They played together on the sand. There was no danger to be apprehended from the teasing of the one or the pecking of the other. When the weather was bad both went into the cave where the albatross had his own corner.



            Serious thought had to be given to the chances of a winter here. But for some stroke of good fortune they would have to endure four or five months of bad weather. In these latitudes, in the heart of the Pacific, storms burst with extraordinary violence, and lower the temperature to a serious extent.



            Captain Gould, Fritz, and John Block talked sometimes of this. It was better to look the perils of the future squarely in the face. Having made up their minds to struggle on, they no longer felt the discouragement which had been caused earlier by the destruction of the boat.



            "If only the situation were not aggravated by the presence of the women and the child," Captain Gould said more than once, "if we were only men here –"



            "All the more reason to do more than we should have done," Fritz rejoined.



            One serious question cropped up in these anticipations of the winter: if the cold became severe, and a fire had to be kept up day and night, might not the supply of fuel give out?



            Kelp was deposited on the beach by every incoming tide and quickly dried by the sun. But an acrid smoke was produced by the combustion of these sea-weeds, and they could not make use of them to warm the cave. The atmosphere would have been rendered unbearable. So it was thought best to close the entrance with the sails of the boat, fixing them firmly enough to withstand the squalls which beset the cliff during the winter.



            There remained the problem of lighting the inside of the cave when the weather should preclude the possibility of working outside.



            The boatswain and Frank, assisted by Jenny and Dolly, made many rude candles out of the grease from the dog-fish which swarmed in the creek and were very easy to catch.



            John Block melted this grease and so obtained a kind of oil which coagulated as it cooled. Since he had at his disposal none of the cotton grown by M. Zermatt, he was obliged to content himself with the fibre of the laminariae, which furnished practicable wicks.



            There was also the question of clothes, and that was a different question indeed.



            "It's pretty clear," said the boatswain one day, "that when you are shipwrecked and cast on a desert island it is prudent to have a ship at your disposal in which you can find everything you want. One makes a poor job of it otherwise!''



            They all agreed. That was how the Landlord had been the salvation of the people in New Switzerland.



            In the afternoon of the 17th an incident of which no one could have foreseen the consequence caused the most intense anxiety.



            As already mentioned, Bob found great pleasure in playing with the albatross. When he was amusing himself on the shore his mother kept a constant watch upon him, to see that he did not go far away, for he was fond of scrambling about among the low rocks of the promontory and running away from the waves. But when he stayed with the bird in the cave there was no risk in leaving him by himself.



            It was about three o'clock. James Wolston was helping the boatswain to arrange the spars to support the heavy curtain in front of the entrance to the cave. Jenny and Susan and Dolly were sitting in the corner by the stove on which the little kettle was boiling, and were busy mending their clothes.



            It was nearly time for Bob's luncheon.



            Mrs. Wolston called the child.



            Bob did not answer.



            Susan went down to the beach and called louder, but still got no reply. Then the boatswain called out: "Bob! Bob! It's dinner time!"



            The child did not appear, and he could not be seen running about the shore.



            "He was here only a minute ago," James declared.



            "Where the deuce can he be?" John Block said to himself, as he went towards the promontory.



            Captain Gould, Fritz, and Frank were walking along the foot of the cliff.



            Bob was not with them.



            The boatswain made a trumpet of his hands and called out several times:



            "Bob! Bob!"



            The child remained invisible.



            James came up to the captain and the two brothers.



            "You haven't seen Bob, have you?" he asked in a very anxious voice.



            "No," Frank answered.



            "I saw him half an hour ago," Fritz declared; "he was playing with the albatross."



            And all began to call him, turning in every direction.



            It was in vain.



            Then Fritz and James went to the promontory, climbed the nearest rocks, and looked all over the creek.



            Neither child nor bird was there.



            Both went back to the others. Mrs. Wolston was pale with fear.



            "Have you looked inside the cave?" Captain Gould asked.



            Fritz made one spring to the cave and searched every corner of it, but came back without the child.



            Mrs. Wolston was distracted. She went to and fro like a mad woman. The little boy might have slipped among the rocks, or fallen into the sea. The most alarming suppositions were permissible since Bob had not been found.



            So the search had to be prosecuted without a moment's delay along the beach and as far as the creek.



            "Fritz and James," said Captain Gould, "come with me along the foot of the cliff. Do you think Bob could have got buried in a heap of sea-weed?"



            "Yes, you go," said the boatswain, "while Mr. Frank and I go and search the creek."



            "And the promontory," Frank added. "It is possible that Bob may have taken it into his head to go climbing there and have fallen into some hole."



            So they separated, some going to the right, some to the left. Jenny and Dolly stayed with Mrs. Wolston and tried to allay her anxiety.



            Half an hour later, all were back again, after a fruitless search. Nowhere in the bay was any trace of the child, and all their calling had been without result.



            Susan's grief broke out. She sobbed in anguish and had to be carried, against her will, into the cave. Her husband, who went with her, could not utter a word. Outside, Frank said:



            '' The child can 't possibly be lost! I tell you again, I saw him on the shore scarcely an hour ago, and he was not near the sea. He had a string in his hand, with a pebble at the end of it, and was playing with the albatross."



            "By the way, where is the bird?" Frank asked, looking round.



            "Yes; where is he?" John Block echoed.



            "Can they have disappeared together?" Captain Gould enquired.



            "It looks like it," Fritz replied.



            They looked in every direction, and especially towards the rocks where the bird was accustomed to perch.



            It was not to be seen, nor could its cry be heard—a cry easily distinguishable from the noises of the divers, gulls, and sea-mews.



            The albatross might have flown above the cliff and made for some other eminence along the coast. But the little boy could not have flown away. Yet he might have been capable of climbing along the promontory after the bird. This explanation was hardly admissible, however, after the search that Frank and the boatswain had made.



            Yet it was impossible not to see some connection between Bob's disappearance and that of the albatross. They hardly ever separated, and now they were both lost together!



            Evening drew on. The father and mother were in terrible grief. Susan was so agitated that they feared for her reason. Jenny, Dolly, Captain Gould and the others, did not know what next to do. When they reflected that if the child had fallen into some hole he would have to stay there all night, they began to search again. A fire of sea-weed was lighted at the far end of the promontory, to be a guide for the child in case he should have gone to the back of the creek. But after remaining afoot until the last possible minute of the evening, they had to give up hope of finding Bob. And what were the chances of their being more successful next day?



            All went back into the cave, but not to sleep. How could they sleep? First one, and then another went out, watched, listened through the rippling of the tide, and then came back and sat down again without saying a word.



            It was the most sorrowful, heart-breaking night of all that Captain Gould and his company had passed upon this deserted coast.



            About two o'clock in the morning, the sky, which had been brilliant with stars until then, began to be overcast. The breeze was now in the north, and the clouds from that quarter gathered overhead. Not yet very thick, they chased each other with ever increasing speed, and east and west of the cliff the sea must certainly be rough.



            It was the time when the flood brought up on to the beach the rollers of the rising tide.



            Just at this moment Mrs. Wolston got up, and before she could be stopped she rushed out of the cave in delirium, shrieking:



            "My child! My child!"



            Force had to be used to get her back again. James, who had caught his wife up, took her in his arms and carried her back, more dead than alive.



            The unhappy mother remained stretched out on the heap of kelp where Bob usually slept by her side. Jenny and Dolly tried to bring her round, but it was only after great efforts on their part that she recovered consciousness.



            Throughout the remainder of the night the wind moaned incessantly round the top of the cliff. A score of times the men searched all over the shore, fearing always that the incoming tide might lay a little corpse upon the sand.



            But there was nothing, nothing! Could the child have been carried out to sea by the waves?



            About four o'clock when the ebb tide was just setting in after the slack, light appeared in the east.



            At this moment Fritz, who was leaning against the back of the cave, thought he heard a kind of cry behind the wall. He listened, and fearing that he might be mistaken, went up to the captain.



            "Come with me!" he said.



            Without knowing, without even asking what Fritz wanted, Captain Gould went with him.



            "Listen!" said Fritz.



            Captain Gould listened intently.



            "I can hear a bird's cry," he said.



            "Yes, a bird's cry!" Fritz declared.



            "Then there is a hollow behind the wall."



            "There must be; and perhaps a passage communicating with the outside; how else is it to be explained?"



            "You are right, Fritz!"



            John Block was told. He put his ear against the wall, and said positively:



            "It's the albatross's cry: I recognise it."



            "And if the albatross is there," said Fritz, "little Bob must be there too."



            '' But how could they both have got in?" the captain asked.



            '' That we will find out,'' John Block replied.



            Frank and Jenny and Dolly were now told. James and his wife recovered a little hope.



            '' He is there! He is there!'' Susan said over and over again.



            John Block had lighted one of the thick candles. That the albatross was behind the wall nobody could doubt, for its cry continued to be heard.



            But just before looking to see if it had slipped in by some opening outside, it was necessary to make sure that the back wall had no orifice.



            Candle in hand, the boatswain began to examine this wall.



            John Block could only see on its surface a few fissures which were too narrow for the albatross or Bob to get through. But at the bottom a hole, twenty to twenty-five inches wide, was hollowed out in the ground, a hole big enough to take the bird and the child.



            Meantime, however, the albatross's cry had ceased, and all were afraid that Captain Gould, the boatswain, and Fritz must have been mistaken.



            Then Jenny took John Block's place, and stooping down level with the hole, she called the bird several times. The albatross knew her voice as well as it knew her caress.



            A cry answered her, and almost immediately the bird came out through the hole.



            "Bob! Bob!'' Jenny called again.



            The child did not answer, did not appear. Was he not with the bird behind the wall? His mother could not restrain a cry of despair.



            '' Wait!'' said the boatswain.



            He crouched down and enlarged the hole, throwing the sand out behind him. In a few minutes he had made the hole large enough for him to squeeze into it.



            A minute later he brought out little Bob, who had fainted, but who was not long in recovering consciousness under his mother's kisses.



CHAPTER IX - BOB FOUND



            IT took Mrs. Wolston some time to recover from her terrible shock. But Bob was restored to her, and that comforted her. It appeared that Bob, playing with the albatross, had followed it to the back of the cave. The bird made its way in through the narrow passage, and Bob went after it. A dark excavation opened out at the end, and when the little fellow wanted to get out of this he found that he could not. At first he called, but his calls were not heard. Then he lost consciousness, and nobody knows what might have happened if by the luckiest chance Fritz had not happened to hear the cry of the albatross.



            "Well," said the boatswain, "now that Bob is in his mother's arms again, everything is for the best. Thanks to him we have discovered another cave. It is true we haven't any use to put it to. The first one was enough for us, and as a matter of fact we ask nothing better than to get away from that one."



            "But I want to find out how far it runs back," Captain Gould remarked.



            "Right to the other side of the cliff, do you fancy, captain?"



            "Who can tell, Block?"



            "All right,'' the boatswain answered. '' But even supposing it does run through the cliff, what shall we find on the other side? Sand, rocks, creeks, promontories, and as much green stuff as I can cover with my hat.''



            "That's very likely," Fritz replied. "But none the less we must look."



            '' We'll look, Mr. Fritz; we'll look. Looking costs nothing, as the saying is."



            The investigation might have such priceless results that it had to be undertaken without delay.



            The captain, Fritz, and Frank went back to the end of the cave. The boatswain walked behind them, armed with several big candles. To make the way easier, those in front enlarged the aperture by removing some more of the stones which had fallen into it.



            A quarter of an hour sufficed to make the opening large enough. None of them had put on flesh since they had landed. Only the boatswain had not lost weight since he had left the Flag.



            When they had all got through, the candles gave sufficient light for them to examine this second excavation.



            It was deeper than the first one, but much narrower, a hundred feet or so long, ten or twelve feet in diameter, and about the same height. It was possible that other passages branched off from it and formed a kind of labyrinth inside the massive cliff. Captain Gould wondered whether one of these branches might not perhaps lead, if not to the top of the cliff, at any rate beyond the bluff or the bastion.



            When Captain Gould urged this point again John Block replied:



            "It certainly is possible. Who knows whether we shan't reach the top through the inside, although we couldn't do so outside?"



            When they had gone some fifty feet through this passage, which gradually got narrower, Captain Gould, the boatswain, and Fritz came to a wall of rock before which they were obliged to stop.



            John Block passed the light all over its surface from the ground to the vault, but found only narrow fissures into which the hand could not be put. So there was no more hope of penetrating further through the solid mass.



            Nor did the side walls of the passage disclose any aperture. This second excavation beyond the first cave was the sole discovery resulting from the incident.



            "Well," said Captain Gould, "it's not by this way that we shall get through the cliff."



            "Nor over it," added the boatswain.



            And, having made sure of that, they could do nothing but go back.



            As a matter of fact, although it was rather disappointing not to find any inner passage, nobody bad thought it likely.



            And yet when Captain Gould and John Block and Fritz got back, they had a feeling of being more confined than ever on this shore.



            During the next few days the weather, very fine hitherto, showed signs of changing. Light clouds, which soon grew thicker, obscured the blue sky, blown over the plateau above by a northerly breeze which, in the evening of the 22nd of January, strengthened until it blew a gale.



            Coming from that quarter, the wind was no menace to Turtle Bay. Sheltered by the cliff, the bay was not exposed to the breakers, as it had been in the violent storm which had caused the destruction of the boat. The sea would remain calm along the shore, not getting the force of the wind nearer than a good mile and a half from the coast. Even if a hurricane burst there would be nothing to fear.



            A heavy thunderstorm broke on the night of the 22nd. About one o'clock in the morning everybody was awakened suddenly by a crash of thunder that made a more appalling noise than a cannon fired at the mouth of the cave could have done.



            Fritz, Frank, and the boatswain sprang from their corners, and rushed to the door.



            "The lightning struck quite close by,"- said Frank.



            "At the crest of the cliff above us, most likely," replied John Block, going a few steps outside.



            Susan and Dolly, who were always greatly affected by thunderstorms, as many people of nervous temperament are, had followed Jenny outside the cave.



            "Well?'' Dolly enquired.



            "There is no danger, Dolly, dear," Frank answered. "Go back and close your eyes and ears."



            But Jenny was just saying to her husband, who had come up to her:



            "What a smell of smoke, Fritz!"



            "That's not surprising," said the boatswain. "There is the fire—over there."



            "Where?" Captain Gould asked sharply.



            "On that heap of sea-weed at the foot of the cliff."



            The lightning had set fire to the heap of dry weed. In a few minutes the flames had spread to the mass of sea-weeds collected at the base of the cliff. It burned up like straw, crackling in the breeze, eddying about like will-of-the-wisps, and spreading an acrid smoke over the whole beach.



            Fortunately, the entrance to the cave was clear, and the fire could not reach it.



            "That's our reserve burning!" John Block exclaimed.



            "Can't we save any of it?" said Fritz.



            "I fear not!" Captain Gould replied.



            The flames spread so rapidly that it was impossible to remove to safety the heaps which furnished the only fuel the shipwrecked people had.



            True, the quantity deposited by the sea was inexhaustible. The stuff would continue to be thrown up, but it would take a long time for such a quantity to accumulate. The incoming tide deposited a few armfuls twice in every twenty-four hours. What had lain on the beach was the harvest of many years. And who could say that, in the few weeks remaining before the rainy season, the tide would have thrown up enough for the winter's need?



            In less than a quarter of an hour the line of fire had ringed the whole circle of the shore, and except for a few heaps along the promontory there was nothing left.



            This fresh hammer-blow of evil fortune aggravated the situation, already so disturbing.



            '' Upon my word, it's no go!"



            And coming from the lips of the boatswain, who was always so confident, the words had exceptional significance.



            But they would not make the walls of the prison fall down, to allow the prisoners to escape!



            Next morning the weather, though no longer thundery, was still unsettled, and the north wind continued to sweep the plateau fiercely.



            Their first business was to see whether the sea-weeds piled up along the bastion had been spared by the fire. They had been partially. The men brought back in their arms enough to last for a week, exclusive of what the tides would bring up every day.



            While the wind continued to blow from the north these floating masses would, of course, be carried to sea.



            But as soon as it veered round to the south again, the harvest could be gathered more abundantly.



            Nevertheless, Captain Gould pointed out that some precautions would have to be taken for the future.



            "Quite right, captain," John Block answered; "it would be a good plan to put what is left of the sea-weed under cover, in case we have to winter here."



            "Why not store it in the second cave that we have just discovered?" Fritz suggested.



            That seemed to be expressly indicated, and that day, before noon, Fritz resolved to go back into the cave, in order to examine its nature and arrangements inside. Provided with a candle, he crept through the narrow opening communicating between the two caves. Who could say if the second one had not some means of egress beyond the mass of rock?



            But just as he reached the far end of the long passage, Fritz felt a fresher breath of air, and at the same moment his ear detected a continual whistling sound.



            "Wind!" he muttered. "That's wind!"



            He put his face near the wall, and his hand found several fissures in it.



            "Wind!" he said again. "It certainly is wind! It gets in here when it blows from the north. So there is a passage, either on the side or at the top of the cliff! But then, on this side, it would mean that there is a communication with the northern flank of the cliff!''



            Just at that moment the candle which Fritz was passing along the wall went out suddenly, in a stronger draught blowing through one of the fissures.



            Fritz did not wait for anything more. He was convinced. If one got through this wall one would have free access to the outside!



            To crawl back to the cave where all were waiting for him, to tell them of his discovery, to take them back again with him, and make sure that he was right, was only the work of minutes.



            In a few minutes more Fritz, followed by Captain Gould, John Block, and James, went from the first cave into the second. They lighted their way by candles which, on this occasion, they were careful not to put too near the wall at the far end.



            Fritz was not mistaken. Fresh air was blowing freely through the passage.



            Then the boatswain, passing the light along the level of the ground, noticed that the passage was closed only by a heap of stones which had no doubt fallen right down a kind of natural shaft.



            "The door!" he exclaimed. "There's the door! And no need of a key to open it with! Ah, captain, you were in the right of it after all!"



            "Get on to it! Get on to it!" was all Captain Gould's reply.



            It was easy to clear the passage of the obstructing stones. They passed them from hand to hand, quite a lot of them, for the heap was five or six feet above the ground level. As the work proceeded the current of air became stronger. There most certainly was a sort of gorge carved out inside the mass of the rock.



            A quarter of an hour was enough to clear the passage entirely.



            Fritz was the first through, and, followed by the others, he went ten or twelve steps up a very steep slope, dimly lighted.



            There was no vertical shaft. A gorge, five or six feet wide and open to the sky, wound between two walls which rose to an immense height, and a strip of blue sky formed its ceiling. It was down this gorge the wind rushed, to creep through the fissures in the wall at the end of the passage.



            And so the cliff was rent right through! But where did the rift open out?



            They could not tell until they had reached the far end of it, supposing they found it possible to do so.



            But for all that they stood like prisoners before whom the gaol doors have just opened!



            It was barely eight o'clock, and there was plenty of time. They did not even discuss the question of sending Fritz or the boatswain on in advance to explore. Everyone wanted to go up the passage at once, without losing a minute.



            "But we must take some provisions," Jenny said. "Who can tell whether we shall not be away longer than we think?"



            "Besides," Fritz added, "have we any idea where we are going?"



            "Outside," the boatswain replied.



            The simple word, so exactly expressing the general sentiment, answered everything.



            But Captain Gould insisted that they should have breakfast first, also that they should take provisions for several days with them, in case they should be delayed.



            Breakfast was hurried through. After four months passed in this bay, they were naturally in a hurry to find out whether their situation had improved, perhaps even changed entirely.



            Besides, there would still be time to come back, if the upper plateau proved to be as barren as the shore, if it were unsuitable for a settlement, if from the extreme summit no other land were to be seen in the proximity. If the castaways from the Flag found they had landed on an island or islet, they would return to the cave and make their arrangements to meet the winter there.



            Directly the meal was finished the men took the bundles of provisions. The first cave was left, and, with the albatross walking beside Jenny, all went through the mouth of the passage.



            When they came to the mouth of the gorge, Fritz and Frank went through first. After them came Jenny, Dolly, and Susan, holding little Bob's hand.



            Captain Gould and James came next, and John Block closed the rear.



            At first the gorge was so narrow that they had to walk in single file.



            It was really nothing but a cleft in the solid rock, running in a northerly direction between two vertical walls which rose to a height of eight or nine hundred feet.



            After a hundred yards or so in a straight line, the ground began to slope upwards rather steeply. The way must be a long one, for if it did debouch upon the plateau it would have had to make up the five hundred feet or so from the level of the beach to the upper part of the cliff. Moreover, the journey was soon lengthened by the twists and turns of the path. It was like the abrupt and capricious twisting of a labyrinth inside the mass of rock. But judging from the light that spread from above, Harry Gould believed that the general direction of the gorge was from south to north. The lateral walls gradually drew further apart, rendering the march much easier.



            About ten o'clock they were obliged to call a halt to allow everyone to recover breath. They stopped in a sort of semi-circular cavity, above which a much larger slice of the sky was visible.



            Captain Gould estimated that this spot was about two hundred feet above the level of the sea.



            "At this rate," he remarked, "it will take us five or six hours to reach the top."



            "Well," Fritz replied, "it will still be broad daylight when we get there, and if need be we shall have time to get down again before night."



            "Quite true, Fritz," the captain replied, "but how can we be sure that the gorge is not lengthened by an even greater number of turnings?"



            "Or that it does not come out upon the cliff?" Frank added.



            "Whether it's at the top or the side of the cliff, let us take things as they come," the boatswain put in. "Above, if it is above, below, if it is below! After all, this don't matter much!" After a rest of half an hour, the march was resumed. The gorge, which wound about ever more and more, and now measured ten to twelve feet across, was carpeted with a sandy soil, scattered with pebbles, and without a sign of vegetation. It seemed as though the summit must be an arid waste, for otherwise some seed or germ would have been carried down by the rain and would have sprouted. But there was nothing here—not even a patch of lichen or moss.



            About two o'clock in the afternoon another halt was called for rest and refreshment. They all sat down in a kind of clearing where the walls widened out like a bell, and over which the sun was passing on its downward way to the west. The height now attained was estimated at seven or eight hundred feet, which justified the hope of reaching the upper plateau.



            At three o'clock the journey was resumed. The difficulties became momentarily greater. The slope was very steep, the ground strown with landslips which made climbing hard, and there were large stones which slipped and bounded down. The gorge, which had widened out considerably, now formed a ravine, with sides still rising two or three hundred feet in height. They had to help one another, and pull each other up by the arms. Everything pointed to the possibility of reaching the plateau now. And the albatross spread out its wings and rose with a spring, as if inviting them to follow. Oh! if only they could have followed in its flight!



            At last, after incredible efforts, a little before five o'clock, they all stood on the top of the cliff.



            To south, to east, to west, nothing at all was to be seen—nothing but the vast expanse of ocean!



            Northwards, the plateau extended over an area which could not be estimated, for its boundary crest could not be seen. Did it present a perpendicular wall on that side, fronting the sea? Would they have to go to the far end of it, to see the horizon of the sea in that direction?



            Altogether, it was a disappointing sight for people who had hoped to set foot upon some fertile, verdant, wooded region. The same arid desolation reigned here as at Turtle Bay, which was perhaps less depressing, if not less sterile, since mosses did gem it here and there, and there were plenty of sea-weeds on its sandy shore.



            And when they turned towards the east and the west, they looked in vain for the outlines of a continent or island. Everything went to show that this was a lonely islet in the middle of these wastes of water.



            Not a word was uttered by anyone before this dashing of their last hopes. These ghastly solitudes offered no resources. There was nothing to do but descend the ravine, get back to the shore, go into the cave again, settle down there for the long winter months, and wait for rescue from outside!



            It was now five o'clock, and there was no time to be lost before the darkness of evening fell. In the gathering shades the walking would not be easy.



            Yet, since the northern part of the plateau had still to be explored, it seemed best to make the exploration now. Might it not even be well to camp for the night among the rocks scattered all over the surface? But perhaps that would not be prudent. If the weather changed, where could shelter be found? Prudence required that they should go back without delay.



            Then Fritz made a suggestion.



            "Jenny, dear, let James and Frank take you back to the cave with Dolly and Mrs. Wolston and the little chap. You can't spend the night on the cliff. Captain Gould, John Block, and I will stay here, and directly it is light to-morrow we will finish our exploration.''



            Jenny did not answer, and Susan and Dolly seemed to be consulting her with their eyes.



            "What Fritz suggests is wise," Frank put in; "and besides, what good can we hope to do by staying here?"



            Jenny continued to keep silence, with her eyes fixed upon the vast ocean which spread over three-quarters of the horizon, looking perhaps for the sight of a sail, telling herself that a light might appear in the far offing.



            The sun was sinking rapidly already, among clouds driven from the north, and it would mean at least two hours' march through dense darkness to reach Turtle Bay.



            Fritz began again:



            '' Jenny, I beg you, go! No doubt to-morrow will be enough for us. We shall be back in the evening.''



            Jenny cast a last look all round her. All had risen, ready to make a start. The faithful albatross was fluttering from rock to rock, while the other birds, sea-mews, gulls and divers, flew back to their holes in the cliff, uttering parting screams.



            The young woman realised that she must do as her husband advised, and regretfully she said:



            "Let us go."



            Suddenly the boatswain sprang to his feet, and making an ear-trumpet of his hand, listened intently.



            A report, muffled by the distance, was audible from the north.



            "A gun!" exclaimed John Block.