Volume Two—Chapter Twelve.Provisioning the Cave.Next day they took an iron bar with them, and pitched the stakes for the fence or stockade. Between the stakes they wove in willow rods and brushwood, so that thus bound together, it was much stronger than it looked, and no one could have got in without at least making a great noise. The two boards, nailed together for the gate, were fastened on one side to a stouter stake with small chains like rude hinges. On the other there was a staple and small padlock.“It’s finished,” said Mark, as he turned the key and locked them in.“No,” said Bevis, “there’s the bedstead. The ground’s dry,” (it was sand), “but it’s not proper to sleep on the ground.”They put off preparing the bedstead till next day, when they approached on a spanking south east wind—half a breeze—against which they had to tack indeed, but spun along at a good speed. The waves were not large enough to make the Pinta roll, but some spray came over now and then.“It’s almost shipwreck weather,” said Mark. “Just see—” He pointed at the cliff where there was a little splashing, as the waves swept sideways along the base of the cliff. “If you run her against the cliff the bowsprit will be knocked in. Would the mast go by the board?”“Not enough wind,” said Bevis, as he steered past, and they landed at the usual place. The bedstead was made by placing five or six thick poles sawn off at four feet on the floor on the left side of the hut, like the sleepers of a railway. Across these lengthways they laid lesser rods, then still more slender rods crossways, and on these again boughs of spruce fir, one on the other to a foot or more in depth. The framework of logs and rods beneath kept the bed above the ground, and the boughs of the spruce fir, being full of resinous sap, gave out a slight fragrance. On this mattress a rug and some old great-coats were to be thrown, and they meant to cover themselves with more rugs and coats. The bedstead took up much of the room, but then it would answer in the daytime instead of chairs to sit on.“It’s finished now, then,” said Mark.“Quite finished,” said Bevis. “All we have now to do is to bring our things.”“And get wrecked,” said Mark. “These chips and boughs,” pointing to the heap they had cut from the poles and stakes, “will do for our fire. Come on. Let’s go up and look at the cliff where we are to be dashed to pieces.”They climbed up the cliff to the young oak on the summit, and went to the edge. The firm sand bore them safely at the verge.“It looks very deep,” said Bevis. “The sand goes down straight.”“Fathomless,” said Mark. “Just think how awful. It ought to happen at night—pitch black! I know! Some savages ought to light a fire up here and guide us to destruction.”“We could not scramble up this cliff out of the water—I mean if we have to swim.”“Of course we shall have to swim, clinging to oars.”“Then we must get round that corner, somehow.”“The other side is all weeds; that wouldn’t do.”“Very likely the waves would bang us against the cliff. Don’t you remember how Ulysses clung to the rock?”“His hands were torn.”“Nearly drowned.”“Tired out.”“Thumped and breathless.”“Jolly!”“But I say! There’s one thing we’ve forgotten,” said Bevis. “If we smash our ship against a cliff like this she’ll go to the bottom—”“Well, that’s just what we want.”“Ah, but it’s not like rocks or shoals; she’ll go straight down, right under where we can’t get at her—”“All the better.”“But then our things will go down too—gun, and powder, and provisions, and everything.”“Put them on the island first and wreck ourselves afterwards.”“So we could. Yes, we could do that, but then,” said Bevis, imagining what would happen, “when the Pinta was missed from the harbour and did not come back, there would be a search, and they would think something had happened to us.”“I see,” said Mark, “that’s very awkward. What a trouble it is to get wrecked! Why can’t people let us be jolly?”“They must not come looking after us,” said Bevis, “else it will spoil everything.”“Perhaps we had better put the wreck off,” said Mark, in a dejected tone. “Do the island first, and have the wreck afterwards.”“It seems as if we must,” said Bevis, “and then it’s almost as awkward—”“Why?”“We shall have to come here in the Pinta, and yet we must not keep her here, else she will be missed.”“The ship must be here and at home too.”“Yes,” said Bevis; “she must be at New Formosa on the equator and at home in the harbour. It’s a very difficult thing.”“Awfully difficult,” said Mark. “But you can do it. Try! Think! Shall I tickle you?”“It wants magic,” said Bevis. “I ought to have studied magic more; only there are no magic books now.”“But you can think, I know. Now, think hard—hard.”“First,” said Bevis slowly, tracing out the proceedings in his imagination; “first we must bring all our things—the gun and powder, and provisions, and great-coats, and the astrolabe, and spears, and leave them all here.”“Pan ought to come,” said Mark, “to watch the hut.”“So he did; he shall come, and besides, if we shoot a wild duck he can swim out and fetch it.”“Now go on,” said Mark. “First, we bring everything and Pan.”“Tie him up,” said Bevis, “and row home in the boat. Then the thing is, how are we to get to the island?”“Swim,” said Mark.“Too far.”“But we needn’t swim all up the New Sea. Couldn’t we swim from where we landed that night after the battle?”“Ever so much better. Let’s go and look,” said Bevis.Away they went to the shore on that side of the island, but they saw in a moment that it was too far. It was two hundred yards to the sedges on the bank where they had landed that night. They could not trust themselves to swim more than fifty or sixty yards; there was, too, the risk of weeds, in which they might get entangled.“I know!” said Bevis, “I know! You stop on the island with Pan. I’ll sail the Pinta into harbour, then I’ll paddle back on the catamaran.”“There!” said Mark, “I knew you could do it if you thought hard. We could bring the catamaran up in the boat, and leave it in the sedges there ready.”“I can leave half my clothes on the island,” said Bevis, “and tie the rest on my back, and paddle here from the sedges in ten minutes. That will be just like the savages do.”“I shall come too,” said Mark. “I shan’t stop here. Let Pan be tied up, and I’ll paddle as well.”“The catamaran won’t bear two.”“Get another. There’s lots of planks. I will come—it’s much jollier paddling than sitting here and doing nothing.”“Capital,” said Bevis. “We’ll have two catamarans, and paddle here together.”“First-rate. Let’s be quick and get the things on the island.”“There will be such a lot,” said Bevis. “The matchlock, and the powder, and the flour, and—”“Salt,” said Mark. “Don’t you remember the moorhen. Things are not nice without salt.”“Yes, salt and matches, and pots for cooking, and a lantern, and—”“Ever so many cargoes,” said Mark. “As there’s such a lot, and as we can’t go home and fetch anything if it’s forgotten, hadn’t you better write a list?”“So I will,” said Bevis. “The pots and kettles will be a bother, they will want to know what we are going to do.”“Buy some new ones.”“Right; and leave them at Macaroni’s.”“Come on. Sail home and begin.”They launched the Pinta, and the spanking south-easterly breeze carried them swiftly into harbour. At home there was a small parcel, very neatly done up, addressed to “Captain Bevis.”“That’s Frances’s handwriting,” said Mark. Bevis cut the string and found a flag inside made from a broad red ribbon cut to a point.“It’s a pennant,” said Bevis. “It will do capitally. How was it we never thought of a flag before?”“We were so busy,” said Mark. “Girls have nothing to do, and so they can remember these sort of stitched things.”“She shall have a bird of paradise for her hat,” said Bevis. “We shall be sure to shoot one on the island.”“I shouldn’t give it to her,” said Mark. “I should sell it. Look at the money.”In the evening they took a large box (which locked) up to the boat, carrying it through the courtyard with the lid open—ostentatiously open—and left it on board. Next morning they filled it with their tools. Bevis kept his list and pencil by him, and as they put in one thing it suggested another, which he immediately wrote down. There were files, gimlets, hammers, screw-drivers, planes, chisels, the portable vice, six or seven different sorts of nails, every tool indeed they had. The hatchet and saw were already on the island. Besides these there were coils of wire and cord, balls of string, and several boxes of safety and lucifer matches. This was enough for one cargo, they shut the lid, and began to loosen the sails ready for hoisting.“You might take us once.”“You never asked us.”Tall Val and little Charlie had come along the bank unnoticed while they were so busy.“I wish you would go away,” said Mark, beginning to push the Pinta afloat. The ballast and cargo made her drag on the sand.“Bevis,” said Val, “let us have one sail.”“All the times you’ve been sailing,” said Charlie, “and all by yourselves, and never asked anybody.”“And after we banged you in the battle,” said Val. “If you did beat us, we hit you as hard as we could.”“It was a capital battle,” said Bevis hesitatingly. He had the halyard in his hand, and paused with the mainsail half hoisted.“Whopping and snopping,” said Charlie.“Charging and whooping and holloaing,” said Val.“Rare,” said Bevis. “Yes; you fought very well.”“But you never asked us to have a sail.”“Not once—you didn’t.”“Well, it’s not your ship. It’s our ship,” said Mark, giving another push, till the Pinta was nearly afloat.“Stop,” cried Charlie, running down to the water’s edge. “Bevis, do take us—”“It’s very selfish of you,” said Val, following.“So it is,” said Bevis. “I say, Mark—”“Pooh!” said Mark, and with a violent shove he launched the boat, and leaped on board. He took a scull, and began to row her head round. The wind was north and light.“I bate you,” said Charlie. “I believe you’re doing something. What’s in that box.”“Ballast, you donk,” said Mark.“That it isn’t, I saw it just before you shut the lid. It’s not ballast.”“Let’s let them come,” said Bevis irresolutely.“You awful stupe,” said Mark, under his breath. “They’ll spoil everything.”“And why do you always sail one way?” said Val. “We’ve seen you ever so many times.”“I won’t be watched,” said Bevis angrily: he, unconsciously, endeavoured to excuse his selfishness under rage.“You can’t help it.”“I tell you, I won’t.”“You’re not General Caesar now.”“I hate you,” pulling up the mainsail. Mark took the rope and fastened it; Bevis sat down to the tiller.“You’re a beast,” screamed little Charlie, as the sails drew and the boat began to move: the north wind was just aft.“I never thought you were so selfish,” shouted Val. “Go on—I won’t ask you again.”“Take that,” said Charlie, “and that—and that.”He threw three stones, one after the other, with all his might: the third, rising from the surface of the water, struck the Pinta’s side sharply.“Aren’t they just horrid?” he said to Val.“I never saw anything like it,” said Val. “But we’ll pay them out, somehow.”On the boat, Bevis looked back presently, and saw them still standing at the water’s edge.“It’s a pity,” he said; “Mark, I don’t like it: shall we have them?”“How can we? Of course they would spoil everything; they would tell everybody, and we could never do it; and, besides, the new island would not be a new island, if everybody was there.”“No more it would.”“We can take them afterwards—after we’ve done the island. That will be just as well.”“So it will. They will watch us, though.”“It’s very nasty of them to watch us,” said Mark. “Why should we take them for sails when they watch us?”“I hate being watched,” said Bevis.“They will just make everything as nasty for us as they can,” said Mark; “and we shall have to be as cunning as ever we can be.”“We will do it, though, somehow.”“That we will.”The light north wind wafted the Pinta gently up the New Sea: the red pennant, fluttering at the mast, pointed out the course before them. They disposed of their first cargo in the store-room, or cave, placing the tools in a sack, though the cave was as dry as the box, that there might not be the least chance of their rusting. The return voyage was slow, for they had to work against the wind, and it was too light for speed. They looked for Charlie and Val, but both were gone.Another cargo was ready late in the afternoon. They carried the things up in the flag-basket, and, before filling the box, took care to look round and behind the shed where the sculls were kept, lest any one should be spying. Hitherto they had worked freely, and without any doubt or suspicion: now they were constantly on the watch, and suspected every tree of concealing some one. Bevis chafed under this, and grew angry about it. In filling the box, too, they kept the lid towards the shore, and hoisted the mainsail to form a screen.Mark took care that there should be some salt, and several bags of flour, and two of biscuits, which they got from a whole tinful in the house. He remembered some pepper too, but overlooked the mustard. They took several tins of condensed milk. From a side of bacon, up in the attic, they cut three streaky pieces, and bought some sherry at the inn; for they thought if they took one of the bottles in the house, it would be missed, and that the servants would be blamed. Some wine would be good to mix with the water; for though they meant to take a wooden bottle of ale, they knew it would not keep.Then there was a pound of tea, perhaps more; for they took it from the chest, and shovelled it up like sand, both hands full at once. A bundle of old newspapers was tied up, to light the fire; for they had found, by experience, that it was not easy to do so with only dry grass. Bevis hunted about till he discovered the tin mug he had when he was a little boy, and two tin plates. Mark brought another mug. A few knives and forks would never be missed from the basketful in the kitchen; and, in choosing some spoons, they were careful not to take silver, because the silver was counted every evening.They asked if they could have a small zinc bucket for the boat; and when they got it, put three pounds or more of knob sugar in it, loose; and covered it over with their Turkish bathing-towels, in which they had wrapped up a brush and comb. Just as they were about to start, they remembered soap and candles. To get these things together, and up to the Pinta, took them some hours, for they often had to wait awhile till people were out of the way before they could get at the cupboards. In the afternoon, as they knew, some of the people went upstairs to dress, and that was their opportunity. By the time they had landed, and stowed away this cargo, the sun was declining.
Next day they took an iron bar with them, and pitched the stakes for the fence or stockade. Between the stakes they wove in willow rods and brushwood, so that thus bound together, it was much stronger than it looked, and no one could have got in without at least making a great noise. The two boards, nailed together for the gate, were fastened on one side to a stouter stake with small chains like rude hinges. On the other there was a staple and small padlock.
“It’s finished,” said Mark, as he turned the key and locked them in.
“No,” said Bevis, “there’s the bedstead. The ground’s dry,” (it was sand), “but it’s not proper to sleep on the ground.”
They put off preparing the bedstead till next day, when they approached on a spanking south east wind—half a breeze—against which they had to tack indeed, but spun along at a good speed. The waves were not large enough to make the Pinta roll, but some spray came over now and then.
“It’s almost shipwreck weather,” said Mark. “Just see—” He pointed at the cliff where there was a little splashing, as the waves swept sideways along the base of the cliff. “If you run her against the cliff the bowsprit will be knocked in. Would the mast go by the board?”
“Not enough wind,” said Bevis, as he steered past, and they landed at the usual place. The bedstead was made by placing five or six thick poles sawn off at four feet on the floor on the left side of the hut, like the sleepers of a railway. Across these lengthways they laid lesser rods, then still more slender rods crossways, and on these again boughs of spruce fir, one on the other to a foot or more in depth. The framework of logs and rods beneath kept the bed above the ground, and the boughs of the spruce fir, being full of resinous sap, gave out a slight fragrance. On this mattress a rug and some old great-coats were to be thrown, and they meant to cover themselves with more rugs and coats. The bedstead took up much of the room, but then it would answer in the daytime instead of chairs to sit on.
“It’s finished now, then,” said Mark.
“Quite finished,” said Bevis. “All we have now to do is to bring our things.”
“And get wrecked,” said Mark. “These chips and boughs,” pointing to the heap they had cut from the poles and stakes, “will do for our fire. Come on. Let’s go up and look at the cliff where we are to be dashed to pieces.”
They climbed up the cliff to the young oak on the summit, and went to the edge. The firm sand bore them safely at the verge.
“It looks very deep,” said Bevis. “The sand goes down straight.”
“Fathomless,” said Mark. “Just think how awful. It ought to happen at night—pitch black! I know! Some savages ought to light a fire up here and guide us to destruction.”
“We could not scramble up this cliff out of the water—I mean if we have to swim.”
“Of course we shall have to swim, clinging to oars.”
“Then we must get round that corner, somehow.”
“The other side is all weeds; that wouldn’t do.”
“Very likely the waves would bang us against the cliff. Don’t you remember how Ulysses clung to the rock?”
“His hands were torn.”
“Nearly drowned.”
“Tired out.”
“Thumped and breathless.”
“Jolly!”
“But I say! There’s one thing we’ve forgotten,” said Bevis. “If we smash our ship against a cliff like this she’ll go to the bottom—”
“Well, that’s just what we want.”
“Ah, but it’s not like rocks or shoals; she’ll go straight down, right under where we can’t get at her—”
“All the better.”
“But then our things will go down too—gun, and powder, and provisions, and everything.”
“Put them on the island first and wreck ourselves afterwards.”
“So we could. Yes, we could do that, but then,” said Bevis, imagining what would happen, “when the Pinta was missed from the harbour and did not come back, there would be a search, and they would think something had happened to us.”
“I see,” said Mark, “that’s very awkward. What a trouble it is to get wrecked! Why can’t people let us be jolly?”
“They must not come looking after us,” said Bevis, “else it will spoil everything.”
“Perhaps we had better put the wreck off,” said Mark, in a dejected tone. “Do the island first, and have the wreck afterwards.”
“It seems as if we must,” said Bevis, “and then it’s almost as awkward—”
“Why?”
“We shall have to come here in the Pinta, and yet we must not keep her here, else she will be missed.”
“The ship must be here and at home too.”
“Yes,” said Bevis; “she must be at New Formosa on the equator and at home in the harbour. It’s a very difficult thing.”
“Awfully difficult,” said Mark. “But you can do it. Try! Think! Shall I tickle you?”
“It wants magic,” said Bevis. “I ought to have studied magic more; only there are no magic books now.”
“But you can think, I know. Now, think hard—hard.”
“First,” said Bevis slowly, tracing out the proceedings in his imagination; “first we must bring all our things—the gun and powder, and provisions, and great-coats, and the astrolabe, and spears, and leave them all here.”
“Pan ought to come,” said Mark, “to watch the hut.”
“So he did; he shall come, and besides, if we shoot a wild duck he can swim out and fetch it.”
“Now go on,” said Mark. “First, we bring everything and Pan.”
“Tie him up,” said Bevis, “and row home in the boat. Then the thing is, how are we to get to the island?”
“Swim,” said Mark.
“Too far.”
“But we needn’t swim all up the New Sea. Couldn’t we swim from where we landed that night after the battle?”
“Ever so much better. Let’s go and look,” said Bevis.
Away they went to the shore on that side of the island, but they saw in a moment that it was too far. It was two hundred yards to the sedges on the bank where they had landed that night. They could not trust themselves to swim more than fifty or sixty yards; there was, too, the risk of weeds, in which they might get entangled.
“I know!” said Bevis, “I know! You stop on the island with Pan. I’ll sail the Pinta into harbour, then I’ll paddle back on the catamaran.”
“There!” said Mark, “I knew you could do it if you thought hard. We could bring the catamaran up in the boat, and leave it in the sedges there ready.”
“I can leave half my clothes on the island,” said Bevis, “and tie the rest on my back, and paddle here from the sedges in ten minutes. That will be just like the savages do.”
“I shall come too,” said Mark. “I shan’t stop here. Let Pan be tied up, and I’ll paddle as well.”
“The catamaran won’t bear two.”
“Get another. There’s lots of planks. I will come—it’s much jollier paddling than sitting here and doing nothing.”
“Capital,” said Bevis. “We’ll have two catamarans, and paddle here together.”
“First-rate. Let’s be quick and get the things on the island.”
“There will be such a lot,” said Bevis. “The matchlock, and the powder, and the flour, and—”
“Salt,” said Mark. “Don’t you remember the moorhen. Things are not nice without salt.”
“Yes, salt and matches, and pots for cooking, and a lantern, and—”
“Ever so many cargoes,” said Mark. “As there’s such a lot, and as we can’t go home and fetch anything if it’s forgotten, hadn’t you better write a list?”
“So I will,” said Bevis. “The pots and kettles will be a bother, they will want to know what we are going to do.”
“Buy some new ones.”
“Right; and leave them at Macaroni’s.”
“Come on. Sail home and begin.”
They launched the Pinta, and the spanking south-easterly breeze carried them swiftly into harbour. At home there was a small parcel, very neatly done up, addressed to “Captain Bevis.”
“That’s Frances’s handwriting,” said Mark. Bevis cut the string and found a flag inside made from a broad red ribbon cut to a point.
“It’s a pennant,” said Bevis. “It will do capitally. How was it we never thought of a flag before?”
“We were so busy,” said Mark. “Girls have nothing to do, and so they can remember these sort of stitched things.”
“She shall have a bird of paradise for her hat,” said Bevis. “We shall be sure to shoot one on the island.”
“I shouldn’t give it to her,” said Mark. “I should sell it. Look at the money.”
In the evening they took a large box (which locked) up to the boat, carrying it through the courtyard with the lid open—ostentatiously open—and left it on board. Next morning they filled it with their tools. Bevis kept his list and pencil by him, and as they put in one thing it suggested another, which he immediately wrote down. There were files, gimlets, hammers, screw-drivers, planes, chisels, the portable vice, six or seven different sorts of nails, every tool indeed they had. The hatchet and saw were already on the island. Besides these there were coils of wire and cord, balls of string, and several boxes of safety and lucifer matches. This was enough for one cargo, they shut the lid, and began to loosen the sails ready for hoisting.
“You might take us once.”
“You never asked us.”
Tall Val and little Charlie had come along the bank unnoticed while they were so busy.
“I wish you would go away,” said Mark, beginning to push the Pinta afloat. The ballast and cargo made her drag on the sand.
“Bevis,” said Val, “let us have one sail.”
“All the times you’ve been sailing,” said Charlie, “and all by yourselves, and never asked anybody.”
“And after we banged you in the battle,” said Val. “If you did beat us, we hit you as hard as we could.”
“It was a capital battle,” said Bevis hesitatingly. He had the halyard in his hand, and paused with the mainsail half hoisted.
“Whopping and snopping,” said Charlie.
“Charging and whooping and holloaing,” said Val.
“Rare,” said Bevis. “Yes; you fought very well.”
“But you never asked us to have a sail.”
“Not once—you didn’t.”
“Well, it’s not your ship. It’s our ship,” said Mark, giving another push, till the Pinta was nearly afloat.
“Stop,” cried Charlie, running down to the water’s edge. “Bevis, do take us—”
“It’s very selfish of you,” said Val, following.
“So it is,” said Bevis. “I say, Mark—”
“Pooh!” said Mark, and with a violent shove he launched the boat, and leaped on board. He took a scull, and began to row her head round. The wind was north and light.
“I bate you,” said Charlie. “I believe you’re doing something. What’s in that box.”
“Ballast, you donk,” said Mark.
“That it isn’t, I saw it just before you shut the lid. It’s not ballast.”
“Let’s let them come,” said Bevis irresolutely.
“You awful stupe,” said Mark, under his breath. “They’ll spoil everything.”
“And why do you always sail one way?” said Val. “We’ve seen you ever so many times.”
“I won’t be watched,” said Bevis angrily: he, unconsciously, endeavoured to excuse his selfishness under rage.
“You can’t help it.”
“I tell you, I won’t.”
“You’re not General Caesar now.”
“I hate you,” pulling up the mainsail. Mark took the rope and fastened it; Bevis sat down to the tiller.
“You’re a beast,” screamed little Charlie, as the sails drew and the boat began to move: the north wind was just aft.
“I never thought you were so selfish,” shouted Val. “Go on—I won’t ask you again.”
“Take that,” said Charlie, “and that—and that.”
He threw three stones, one after the other, with all his might: the third, rising from the surface of the water, struck the Pinta’s side sharply.
“Aren’t they just horrid?” he said to Val.
“I never saw anything like it,” said Val. “But we’ll pay them out, somehow.”
On the boat, Bevis looked back presently, and saw them still standing at the water’s edge.
“It’s a pity,” he said; “Mark, I don’t like it: shall we have them?”
“How can we? Of course they would spoil everything; they would tell everybody, and we could never do it; and, besides, the new island would not be a new island, if everybody was there.”
“No more it would.”
“We can take them afterwards—after we’ve done the island. That will be just as well.”
“So it will. They will watch us, though.”
“It’s very nasty of them to watch us,” said Mark. “Why should we take them for sails when they watch us?”
“I hate being watched,” said Bevis.
“They will just make everything as nasty for us as they can,” said Mark; “and we shall have to be as cunning as ever we can be.”
“We will do it, though, somehow.”
“That we will.”
The light north wind wafted the Pinta gently up the New Sea: the red pennant, fluttering at the mast, pointed out the course before them. They disposed of their first cargo in the store-room, or cave, placing the tools in a sack, though the cave was as dry as the box, that there might not be the least chance of their rusting. The return voyage was slow, for they had to work against the wind, and it was too light for speed. They looked for Charlie and Val, but both were gone.
Another cargo was ready late in the afternoon. They carried the things up in the flag-basket, and, before filling the box, took care to look round and behind the shed where the sculls were kept, lest any one should be spying. Hitherto they had worked freely, and without any doubt or suspicion: now they were constantly on the watch, and suspected every tree of concealing some one. Bevis chafed under this, and grew angry about it. In filling the box, too, they kept the lid towards the shore, and hoisted the mainsail to form a screen.
Mark took care that there should be some salt, and several bags of flour, and two of biscuits, which they got from a whole tinful in the house. He remembered some pepper too, but overlooked the mustard. They took several tins of condensed milk. From a side of bacon, up in the attic, they cut three streaky pieces, and bought some sherry at the inn; for they thought if they took one of the bottles in the house, it would be missed, and that the servants would be blamed. Some wine would be good to mix with the water; for though they meant to take a wooden bottle of ale, they knew it would not keep.
Then there was a pound of tea, perhaps more; for they took it from the chest, and shovelled it up like sand, both hands full at once. A bundle of old newspapers was tied up, to light the fire; for they had found, by experience, that it was not easy to do so with only dry grass. Bevis hunted about till he discovered the tin mug he had when he was a little boy, and two tin plates. Mark brought another mug. A few knives and forks would never be missed from the basketful in the kitchen; and, in choosing some spoons, they were careful not to take silver, because the silver was counted every evening.
They asked if they could have a small zinc bucket for the boat; and when they got it, put three pounds or more of knob sugar in it, loose; and covered it over with their Turkish bathing-towels, in which they had wrapped up a brush and comb. Just as they were about to start, they remembered soap and candles. To get these things together, and up to the Pinta, took them some hours, for they often had to wait awhile till people were out of the way before they could get at the cupboards. In the afternoon, as they knew, some of the people went upstairs to dress, and that was their opportunity. By the time they had landed, and stowed away this cargo, the sun was declining.
Volume Two—Chapter Thirteen.More Cargoes—All Ready.Next morning the third cargo went; they had to row, for the New Sea was calm. It consisted of arms. Bevis’s favourite bow, of course, was taken, and two sheaves of arrows; Mark’s spears and harpoon; the crossbow, throw-sticks, the boomerang and darts; so that the armoury was almost denuded.Besides these there were fish-hooks (which were put in the box), fishing-rods, and kettles; an old horn-lantern, the old telescope, the astrolabe, scissors and thread (which shipwrecked people always have); a bag full of old coins, which were to be found in the sand on the shore, where a Spanish galleon had been wrecked (one of those the sunken galley had been convoying when the tornado overtook them); a small looking-glass, a piece of iron rod, six bottles of lemonade, a cribbage-board and pack of cards, and a bezique pack; a basket of apples, and a bag of potatoes. The afternoon cargo was clothes, for they thought they might want a change if it was wet; so they each took one suit, carefully selecting old things that had been disused, and would not be missed.Then there were the great-coats for the bed; these were very awkward to get up to the boat, and caused many journeys, for they could only take one coat each at a time.“What a lot of rubbish you are taking to your boat,” said mamma once. “Mind you don’t sink it: you will fill your boat with rubbish till you can’t move about.”“Rubbish!” said Bevis indignantly. “Rubbish, indeed!”They so often took the rugs that there was no need to conceal them. Mark hit on a good idea and rolled up the barrel of the matchlock in one of the rugs, and with it the ramrod. In the other they hid the stock and powder-horn, and so got them to the boat; chuckling over Mark’s device, by which they removed the matchlock in broad daylight.“If Val’s watching,” said Bevis, as they came up the bank with the rugs, the last part of the load, “he’ll have to be smashed.”“People who spy about ought to be killed,” said Mark. “Everything ought to be done openly,” carefully depositing the concealed barrel in the stern-sheets. This was the most important thing of all. When they had got the matchlock safe in the cave, they felt that the greatest difficulty was surmounted.John Young had brought their anvil, the 28 pound weight, for them to the bank, and it was shipped. He bought a small pot for boiling, the smallest size made, for them in Latten, also a saucepan, a tin kettle, and teapot. One of the wooden bottles, like tiny barrels, used to send ale out to the men in the fields, was filled with strong ale. Mark drew it in the cellar which had once been his prison, carefully filling it to the utmost, and this John got away for them rolled up in his jacket. The all-potent wand of the enchanter Barleycorn was held over him; what was there he would not have done for them?He was all the more ready to oblige them because since Mark’s imprisonment in the cellar, Bevis and Mark had rather taken his part against the Bailiff, and got him out of scrapes. Feeling that he had powerful friends at court, John did not trouble to work so hard. They called at the cottage for the pot and the other things, which were in a sack ready for them. Loo fetched the sack, and Bevis threw it over his shoulder.“I scoured them well,” said Loo. “They be all clean.”“Did you?” said Bevis. “Here,” searching his pocket. “O! I’ve only a fourpenny piece left.” He gave it to her.“I can cook,” said Loo wistfully, “and make tea.” This was a hint to them to take her with them; but away they strode unheeding. The tin kettle and teapot clashed in the sack.“I believe I saw Val behind that tree,” said Bevis.“He can’t see through a sack though,” said Mark.The wind was still very light, and all the morning was occupied in delivering this cargo. The cave or store-room was now crammed full, and they could not put any more without shelves.“That’s the last,” said Mark, dragging the heavy anvil in. “Except Pan.”“And my books,” said Bevis, “and ink and paper. We must keep a journal of course.”“So we must,” said Mark. “I forgot that. It will make a book.”“‘Adventures in New Formosa,’” said Bevis.“We’ll write it every evening after we’ve done work, don’t you see.”When they got home he put his books together—the Odyssey, Don Quixote, the grey and battered volume of ballads, a tiny little book of Shakespeare’s poems, of which he had lately become very fond, and Filmore’s rhymed translation of Faust. He found two manuscript books for the journal; these and the pens and ink-bottle could all go together in the final cargo with Pan.All the while these voyages were proceeding they had been thinking over how they should get away from home without being searched for, and had concluded that almost the only excuse they could make would be that they were going to spend a week or two with Jack. This they now began to spread about, and pretended to prepare for the visit. As they expected, it caused no comment. All that was said was that they were not to stop too long. Mamma, did not much like the idea of being left by herself, but then it was quite different to their being away in disgrace.But she insisted upon Bevis writing home. Bevis shrugged his shoulders, foreseeing that it would be difficult to do this as there was no post-office on New Formosa; but it was of no use, she said he should not go unless he promised to write.“Very well,” said Bevis. “Letters are the stupidest stupidity stupes ever invented.”But now there arose a new difficulty, which seemed as if it could not be got over. How were they to tell while they were away on the island, and cut off from all communication with the mainland, what was going on at home; whether it was all right and they were supposed to be at Jack’s, or whether they were missed? For though so intent on deceiving the home authorities, and so ingenious in devising the means, they stopped at this.They did not like to think that perhaps Bevis’s governor and mamma, who were so kind, would be miserable with anxiety on finding that they had disappeared. Mark, too, was anxious about his Jolly Old Moke. With the usual contradiction of the mind they earnestly set about to deceive their friends, and were equally anxious not to give them any pain. After all their trouble, it really seemed as if this would prevent the realisation of their plans. A whole day they walked about and wondered what they could do, and got quite angry with each other from simple irritation.At last they settled that they must arrange with some one so as to know, for if there was any trouble about them they meant to return immediately. Both agreed that little Charlie was the best they could choose; he was as quick as lightning, and as true as steel.“Just remember,” said Bevis, “how he fetched up Cecil in the battle.”“That just made all the difference,” said Mark. “Now I’ll manage it with him; don’t you come, you leave him to me; you’re so soft—”“Soft!—Well, I like that.”“No; I don’t mean stupid—so easy. There, don’t look like that. You tell me—you think what Charlie must do—and I’ll manage him.”Bevis thought and considered that Charlie must give them a signal—wave a handkerchief. Charlie must stand on some conspicuous place visible from New Formosa; by the quarry would be the very place, at a certain fixed time every day, and wave a white handkerchief, and they could look through the telescope and see him. If anything was wrong, he could take his hat off and wave that instead. Mark thought it would do very well, and set out to find and arrange with Charlie.Being very much offended because he had not been taken for a sail, Charlie was at first very off-hand, and not at all disposed to do anything. But when shrewd Mark let out as a great secret that he and Bevis were going to live in the wood at the end of the New Sea for a while like savages, Charlie began to relent, for all his sympathies went with the idea.Mark promised him faithfully that when he and Bevis had done it first, he should come too if he would help them. Charlie gave in and agreed, but on condition that he should be taken for a sail first. Eager as Mark was for the island, it was no good trying to persuade Charlie, he adhered to his stipulation, and Mark had to yield. However, he reflected that if they took Charlie for a sail he would be certain to do as he promised, and besides that it would make Val jealous, and he and Charlie would quarrel, and so they would not be always watching.So it was settled—Charlie to have a sail, and then every afternoon at four o’clock he was to stand just above the quarry and wave a white handkerchief if all was right. If Bevis and Mark were missed he was to take off his hat, and wave that. As he had no watch, Charlie was to judge the time by the calling of the cows to be milked—the milkers make a great hullabaloo and shouting, which can be heard a long distance off.“I said we were going to live in the wood,” Mark told Bevis when he came back. “Then he won’t think we’re on the island. If he plays us any trick he’ll go and try and find us in the wood.”While Mark was gone about the signal, Bevis, thinking everything over, remembered the letter he had promised to write home. To post the letter one or other of them must go on the mainland, if by day some one would very likely see them and mention it, and then the question would arise why they came near without going home? Bevis went up to the cottage, and told Loo to listen every evening at ten o’clock out of her window, which looked over the field at the back, and if she heard anybody whistle three notes, “Foo-tootle-too,” to slip out, as it would be them.“That I will,” said Loo, delighted. “I’ll come in a minute.”Charlie had his sail next morning, but they took care not to go near the island. Knowing how sharp his eyes were, they tacked to and fro in Mozambique and Fir-Tree Gulf. Charlie learned to manage the foresail in five minutes, then the tiller, and to please him the more they let him act as captain for a while. He promised most faithfully to make the signal every day, and they knew he would do it.In the afternoon they thought and thought to see if there was anything they had forgotten, and to try and call things to mind, wandered all over the house, but only recollected one thing—the gridiron. There were several in the kitchen. They took an old one, much burnt, which was not used. With this and Bevis’s books they visited New Formosa, rowing up towards evening, and upon their return unshipped the mast, and took it and the sails home, else perhaps Val or some one would launch the Pinta and try to sail in their absence. They meant to padlock the boat with a chain, but if the sails were in her it would be a temptation to break the lock. There was now nothing to take but Pan, and they were so eager for the morning that it was past midnight before they could go to sleep.The morning of the 3rd of August—the very day Columbus sailed—the long desired day, was beautifully fine, calm, and cloudless. They were in such haste to start they could hardly say “Good-bye.”“Good-bye,” said Polly the dairymaid.“Don’t want to see you,” said Bevis. Polly was not yet forgiven for the part she had taken in hustling Mark into the cellar. They had got out into the meadow with Pan, when Bevis’s mother came running after.“Have you any money?” she asked, with her purse in her hand.They laughed, for the thought instantly struck them that they could not spend money on New Formosa, but they did not say they did not want any. She gave them five shillings each, and kissed them again. She watched them till they went through the gateway with Pan, and were hidden from sight.Pan leaped on board after them, and they rowed to the island. It was so still, the surface was like glass. The spaniel ran about inside the stockade, and sniffed knowingly at the coats on the bedstead, but he did not wag his tail or look so happy when Bevis suddenly drew his collar three holes tighter and buckled it. Bevis knew very well if his collar was not as tight as possible Pan would work his head out. They fastened him securely to the post at the gateway in the palisade, and hastened away.When Pan realised that they were really gone, and heard the sound of the oars, he went quite frantic. He tugged, he whined, he choked, he rolled over, he scratched, and bit, and shook, and whimpered; the tears ran down his eyes, his ears were pulled over his head by the collar, against which he strained. But he strained in vain. They heard his dismal howls almost down to the Mozambique.“Poor Pan!” said Bevis. “He shall have a feast the first thing we shoot.”They had left their stockings on the island, and everything else they could take off so as not to have very large bundles on their backs while paddling, and took their pocket-knives out of their trouser’s pockets and left them, knowing things are apt to drop out of the pockets. The Pinta was drawn up as far as she would come on the shore at the harbour, and then fastened with a chain, which they had ready, to a staple and padlocked. Mark had thought of this, so that no one could go rowing round, and he had a piece of string on the key with which he fastened it to a button-hole of his waistcoat that it might not be lost.This done, they got through the hedge, and retraced the way they had come home on the night of the battle, through the meadows, the cornfields, and lastly across the wild waste pasture or common. From there they scrambled through the hedges and the immense bramble thickets, and regained the shore opposite their island.They went down the marshy level to the bank, and along it to the beds of sedges, where, on the verge of the sea, they had hidden the catamarans. There they undressed, and made their clothes and boots into bundles, and slung them over their shoulders with cord. Then they hauled their catamarans down to the water.
Next morning the third cargo went; they had to row, for the New Sea was calm. It consisted of arms. Bevis’s favourite bow, of course, was taken, and two sheaves of arrows; Mark’s spears and harpoon; the crossbow, throw-sticks, the boomerang and darts; so that the armoury was almost denuded.
Besides these there were fish-hooks (which were put in the box), fishing-rods, and kettles; an old horn-lantern, the old telescope, the astrolabe, scissors and thread (which shipwrecked people always have); a bag full of old coins, which were to be found in the sand on the shore, where a Spanish galleon had been wrecked (one of those the sunken galley had been convoying when the tornado overtook them); a small looking-glass, a piece of iron rod, six bottles of lemonade, a cribbage-board and pack of cards, and a bezique pack; a basket of apples, and a bag of potatoes. The afternoon cargo was clothes, for they thought they might want a change if it was wet; so they each took one suit, carefully selecting old things that had been disused, and would not be missed.
Then there were the great-coats for the bed; these were very awkward to get up to the boat, and caused many journeys, for they could only take one coat each at a time.
“What a lot of rubbish you are taking to your boat,” said mamma once. “Mind you don’t sink it: you will fill your boat with rubbish till you can’t move about.”
“Rubbish!” said Bevis indignantly. “Rubbish, indeed!”
They so often took the rugs that there was no need to conceal them. Mark hit on a good idea and rolled up the barrel of the matchlock in one of the rugs, and with it the ramrod. In the other they hid the stock and powder-horn, and so got them to the boat; chuckling over Mark’s device, by which they removed the matchlock in broad daylight.
“If Val’s watching,” said Bevis, as they came up the bank with the rugs, the last part of the load, “he’ll have to be smashed.”
“People who spy about ought to be killed,” said Mark. “Everything ought to be done openly,” carefully depositing the concealed barrel in the stern-sheets. This was the most important thing of all. When they had got the matchlock safe in the cave, they felt that the greatest difficulty was surmounted.
John Young had brought their anvil, the 28 pound weight, for them to the bank, and it was shipped. He bought a small pot for boiling, the smallest size made, for them in Latten, also a saucepan, a tin kettle, and teapot. One of the wooden bottles, like tiny barrels, used to send ale out to the men in the fields, was filled with strong ale. Mark drew it in the cellar which had once been his prison, carefully filling it to the utmost, and this John got away for them rolled up in his jacket. The all-potent wand of the enchanter Barleycorn was held over him; what was there he would not have done for them?
He was all the more ready to oblige them because since Mark’s imprisonment in the cellar, Bevis and Mark had rather taken his part against the Bailiff, and got him out of scrapes. Feeling that he had powerful friends at court, John did not trouble to work so hard. They called at the cottage for the pot and the other things, which were in a sack ready for them. Loo fetched the sack, and Bevis threw it over his shoulder.
“I scoured them well,” said Loo. “They be all clean.”
“Did you?” said Bevis. “Here,” searching his pocket. “O! I’ve only a fourpenny piece left.” He gave it to her.
“I can cook,” said Loo wistfully, “and make tea.” This was a hint to them to take her with them; but away they strode unheeding. The tin kettle and teapot clashed in the sack.
“I believe I saw Val behind that tree,” said Bevis.
“He can’t see through a sack though,” said Mark.
The wind was still very light, and all the morning was occupied in delivering this cargo. The cave or store-room was now crammed full, and they could not put any more without shelves.
“That’s the last,” said Mark, dragging the heavy anvil in. “Except Pan.”
“And my books,” said Bevis, “and ink and paper. We must keep a journal of course.”
“So we must,” said Mark. “I forgot that. It will make a book.”
“‘Adventures in New Formosa,’” said Bevis.
“We’ll write it every evening after we’ve done work, don’t you see.”
When they got home he put his books together—the Odyssey, Don Quixote, the grey and battered volume of ballads, a tiny little book of Shakespeare’s poems, of which he had lately become very fond, and Filmore’s rhymed translation of Faust. He found two manuscript books for the journal; these and the pens and ink-bottle could all go together in the final cargo with Pan.
All the while these voyages were proceeding they had been thinking over how they should get away from home without being searched for, and had concluded that almost the only excuse they could make would be that they were going to spend a week or two with Jack. This they now began to spread about, and pretended to prepare for the visit. As they expected, it caused no comment. All that was said was that they were not to stop too long. Mamma, did not much like the idea of being left by herself, but then it was quite different to their being away in disgrace.
But she insisted upon Bevis writing home. Bevis shrugged his shoulders, foreseeing that it would be difficult to do this as there was no post-office on New Formosa; but it was of no use, she said he should not go unless he promised to write.
“Very well,” said Bevis. “Letters are the stupidest stupidity stupes ever invented.”
But now there arose a new difficulty, which seemed as if it could not be got over. How were they to tell while they were away on the island, and cut off from all communication with the mainland, what was going on at home; whether it was all right and they were supposed to be at Jack’s, or whether they were missed? For though so intent on deceiving the home authorities, and so ingenious in devising the means, they stopped at this.
They did not like to think that perhaps Bevis’s governor and mamma, who were so kind, would be miserable with anxiety on finding that they had disappeared. Mark, too, was anxious about his Jolly Old Moke. With the usual contradiction of the mind they earnestly set about to deceive their friends, and were equally anxious not to give them any pain. After all their trouble, it really seemed as if this would prevent the realisation of their plans. A whole day they walked about and wondered what they could do, and got quite angry with each other from simple irritation.
At last they settled that they must arrange with some one so as to know, for if there was any trouble about them they meant to return immediately. Both agreed that little Charlie was the best they could choose; he was as quick as lightning, and as true as steel.
“Just remember,” said Bevis, “how he fetched up Cecil in the battle.”
“That just made all the difference,” said Mark. “Now I’ll manage it with him; don’t you come, you leave him to me; you’re so soft—”
“Soft!—Well, I like that.”
“No; I don’t mean stupid—so easy. There, don’t look like that. You tell me—you think what Charlie must do—and I’ll manage him.”
Bevis thought and considered that Charlie must give them a signal—wave a handkerchief. Charlie must stand on some conspicuous place visible from New Formosa; by the quarry would be the very place, at a certain fixed time every day, and wave a white handkerchief, and they could look through the telescope and see him. If anything was wrong, he could take his hat off and wave that instead. Mark thought it would do very well, and set out to find and arrange with Charlie.
Being very much offended because he had not been taken for a sail, Charlie was at first very off-hand, and not at all disposed to do anything. But when shrewd Mark let out as a great secret that he and Bevis were going to live in the wood at the end of the New Sea for a while like savages, Charlie began to relent, for all his sympathies went with the idea.
Mark promised him faithfully that when he and Bevis had done it first, he should come too if he would help them. Charlie gave in and agreed, but on condition that he should be taken for a sail first. Eager as Mark was for the island, it was no good trying to persuade Charlie, he adhered to his stipulation, and Mark had to yield. However, he reflected that if they took Charlie for a sail he would be certain to do as he promised, and besides that it would make Val jealous, and he and Charlie would quarrel, and so they would not be always watching.
So it was settled—Charlie to have a sail, and then every afternoon at four o’clock he was to stand just above the quarry and wave a white handkerchief if all was right. If Bevis and Mark were missed he was to take off his hat, and wave that. As he had no watch, Charlie was to judge the time by the calling of the cows to be milked—the milkers make a great hullabaloo and shouting, which can be heard a long distance off.
“I said we were going to live in the wood,” Mark told Bevis when he came back. “Then he won’t think we’re on the island. If he plays us any trick he’ll go and try and find us in the wood.”
While Mark was gone about the signal, Bevis, thinking everything over, remembered the letter he had promised to write home. To post the letter one or other of them must go on the mainland, if by day some one would very likely see them and mention it, and then the question would arise why they came near without going home? Bevis went up to the cottage, and told Loo to listen every evening at ten o’clock out of her window, which looked over the field at the back, and if she heard anybody whistle three notes, “Foo-tootle-too,” to slip out, as it would be them.
“That I will,” said Loo, delighted. “I’ll come in a minute.”
Charlie had his sail next morning, but they took care not to go near the island. Knowing how sharp his eyes were, they tacked to and fro in Mozambique and Fir-Tree Gulf. Charlie learned to manage the foresail in five minutes, then the tiller, and to please him the more they let him act as captain for a while. He promised most faithfully to make the signal every day, and they knew he would do it.
In the afternoon they thought and thought to see if there was anything they had forgotten, and to try and call things to mind, wandered all over the house, but only recollected one thing—the gridiron. There were several in the kitchen. They took an old one, much burnt, which was not used. With this and Bevis’s books they visited New Formosa, rowing up towards evening, and upon their return unshipped the mast, and took it and the sails home, else perhaps Val or some one would launch the Pinta and try to sail in their absence. They meant to padlock the boat with a chain, but if the sails were in her it would be a temptation to break the lock. There was now nothing to take but Pan, and they were so eager for the morning that it was past midnight before they could go to sleep.
The morning of the 3rd of August—the very day Columbus sailed—the long desired day, was beautifully fine, calm, and cloudless. They were in such haste to start they could hardly say “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” said Polly the dairymaid.
“Don’t want to see you,” said Bevis. Polly was not yet forgiven for the part she had taken in hustling Mark into the cellar. They had got out into the meadow with Pan, when Bevis’s mother came running after.
“Have you any money?” she asked, with her purse in her hand.
They laughed, for the thought instantly struck them that they could not spend money on New Formosa, but they did not say they did not want any. She gave them five shillings each, and kissed them again. She watched them till they went through the gateway with Pan, and were hidden from sight.
Pan leaped on board after them, and they rowed to the island. It was so still, the surface was like glass. The spaniel ran about inside the stockade, and sniffed knowingly at the coats on the bedstead, but he did not wag his tail or look so happy when Bevis suddenly drew his collar three holes tighter and buckled it. Bevis knew very well if his collar was not as tight as possible Pan would work his head out. They fastened him securely to the post at the gateway in the palisade, and hastened away.
When Pan realised that they were really gone, and heard the sound of the oars, he went quite frantic. He tugged, he whined, he choked, he rolled over, he scratched, and bit, and shook, and whimpered; the tears ran down his eyes, his ears were pulled over his head by the collar, against which he strained. But he strained in vain. They heard his dismal howls almost down to the Mozambique.
“Poor Pan!” said Bevis. “He shall have a feast the first thing we shoot.”
They had left their stockings on the island, and everything else they could take off so as not to have very large bundles on their backs while paddling, and took their pocket-knives out of their trouser’s pockets and left them, knowing things are apt to drop out of the pockets. The Pinta was drawn up as far as she would come on the shore at the harbour, and then fastened with a chain, which they had ready, to a staple and padlocked. Mark had thought of this, so that no one could go rowing round, and he had a piece of string on the key with which he fastened it to a button-hole of his waistcoat that it might not be lost.
This done, they got through the hedge, and retraced the way they had come home on the night of the battle, through the meadows, the cornfields, and lastly across the wild waste pasture or common. From there they scrambled through the hedges and the immense bramble thickets, and regained the shore opposite their island.
They went down the marshy level to the bank, and along it to the beds of sedges, where, on the verge of the sea, they had hidden the catamarans. There they undressed, and made their clothes and boots into bundles, and slung them over their shoulders with cord. Then they hauled their catamarans down to the water.
Volume Two—Chapter Fourteen.New Formosa.Splash!“Is it deep?”“Not yet.”Bevis had got his catamaran in and ran out with it some way, as the water was shallow, till it deepened, when he sat astride and paddled. “Come on,” he shouted. Splash! “I’m coming.”Mark ran in with his in the same manner, and sitting astride paddled about ten yards behind.“Weeds,” said Bevis, feeling the long rough stalks like string dragging against his feet. “Where? I can’t see.”“Under water. They will not hurt.”“There goes a flapper,” (a young wild duck). “I hope we shan’t see the magic wave.”“Pooh!”“My bundle is slipping.”“Pull it up again.”“It’s all right now.”“Holloa! Land,” said Bevis, suddenly standing up.He had reached a shallow where the water was no deeper than his knees.“A jack struck. There,” said Mark, as he too stood up, and drew his catamaran along with his hand.Splash!Bevis was off again, paddling in deeper water. Mark was now close behind.“There’s a coot; he’s gone into the sedges.”“Parrots,” said Mark, as two wood-pigeons passed over.“Which is the right channel?” said Bevis, pausing.They had now reached the great mass of weeds which came to the surface, and through which it was impossible to move. There were two channels, one appeared to lead straight to the island, the other wound about to the right.“Which did we come down in the Pinta, when we hid the catamarans?” said Mark.“Stupe, that’s just what I want to know.”“Go straight on,” said Mark; “that looks clearest.”So it did, and Bevis went straight on; but when they had paddled fifty yards they both saw at once that they could not go much farther that way, for the channel curved sharply, and was blocked with weeds.“We must go back,” said Mark.“We can’t turn round.”“We can’t paddle backwards. There I’m in the weeds.”“Turn round on the plank.”“Perhaps I shall fall off.”“Sit sideways first.”“The plank tips.”“Very well, I’ll do it first,” said Bevis.He turned sideways to try and get astride, looking the other way. The plank immediately tipped and pitched him into the water, bundle and all.“Ah!” said Mark. “Thought you could do it so easy; didn’t you?”Bevis threw his right arm over the plank, and tried to get on it; but every time he attempted to lift his knee over, the catamaran gave way under him. His paddle floated away. The bundle of clothes on his back, soaked and heavy, kept him down.Mark paddled towards him, and tried to lift him with one hand, but nearly upset himself. Bevis struggled hard to get on, and so pushed the plank sideways to the edge of the weeds. He felt the rough strings again winding round his feet.“You’ll be in the weeds,” said Mark, growing alarmed. “Come on my plank. Try. I’ll throw my bundle off.” He began to take it from his back. “Then it will just keep you up. O!”Bevis put his hands up, and immediately sank under the surface, but he had done it purposely, to free himself from his bundle. The bundle floated, and the cord slipped over his head. Bringing his hands down Bevis as instantly rose to the surface, bumping his head against the catamaran.“Now I can do it,” he said, blowing the water from his nostrils.He seized the plank, and laid almost all along in the water, so as to press very lightly on it, his weight being supported by the water, then he got his knee over and sat up.“Hurrah!”The bundle was slowly settling down when Mark seized it.“Never mind about the things being wet,” he said. “Sit still; I’ll fetch your paddle.”Dragging the bundle in the water by the cord, Mark went after, and recovered Bevis’s paddle. To come back he had to back water, and found it very awkward even for so short a distance. The catamaran would not go straight.“O! what a stupe I was,” said Bevis. “I’ve got on the same way again.”In his hurry he had forgotten his object, and got astride facing the island as before.“Well, I never,” said Mark. “Stop—don’t.”Bevis slipped off his catamaran again, but this time not being encumbered with the bundle he was up on it again in half a minute, and faced the mainland.“There,” said he. “Now you can come close. That’s it. Now give me your bundle.”Mark did so. Afterwards Bevis took the cord of his own bundle, which being in the water was not at all heavy. “Now you can turn.”Mark slipped off, but managed so that his chest was still on the plank. In that position he worked himself round and got astride the other way.“Done very well,” said Bevis; “ever so much better than I did. Here.”Mark slung his bundle, and they paddled back to the shallow water, Bevis towing his soaked dress. They stood up in the shallow and rested a few minutes, and Bevis fastened his bundle to his plank just in front of where he sat.“Come on.” Off he went again, following the other channel this time. It wound round a bank grown with sedges, and then led straight into a broader and open channel, the same they had come down in the boat. They recognised it directly, and paddled faster.“Hark! there’s Pan,” said Mark.As they came near the island, Pan either scented them or heard a splashing, for he set up his bark again. He had choked himself silent before.“Pan! Pan!” shouted Bevis, whistling.Yow—wow—wow!“Hurrah!”“Hurrah!”They ran up on the shore of New Formosa, and began to dance and caper, kicking up their heels.Yow-wow—wow-wow!“Pan! I’m coming,” said Bevis, and began to run, but stopped suddenly.Thistles in the grass and trailing briars stayed him. He put on his wet boots, and then picking his way round, reached the hut. He let Pan loose. The spaniel crouched at his feet and whimpered, and followed him, crawling on the ground. Bevis patted him, but he could not leap up as usual, the desertion had quite broken his spirit for the time. Bevis went into the hut, and just as he was, with nothing on but his boots, took his journal and wrote down “Wednesday.”“There,” said he to Mark, who had now come, more slowly, for he carried the two bundles, “there, I’ve put down the day, else we shall lose our reckoning, don’t you see.”They were soon dressed. Bevis put on the change he had provided in the store-room, and spread his wet clothes out to dry in the sun. Pan crept from one to the other; he could not get enough patting, he wanted to be continually spoken to and stroked. He would not go a yard from them.“What’s the time?” said Bevis, “my watch has stopped.” The water had stopped it.“Five minutes to twelve,” said Mark. “You must write down, ‘We landed on the island at noon.’”“So I will to-night. My watch won’t go; the water is in it.”“Lucky mine did not got wet too.”“Hang yours up in the hut, else perhaps it will get stopped somehow, then we shan’t know the time.”Mark hung his watch up in the hut, and caught sight of the wooden bottle.“The first thing people do is to refresh themselves,” he said. “Let’s have a glass of ale: splendid thing when you’re shipwrecked—”“A libation to the gods,” said Bevis. “That’s the thing; you pour it out on the ground because you’ve escaped.”“O!” said Mark, opening the bottle. “Now just look! And I filled it to the brim so that I could hardly get the cork in.”“John,” said Bevis.“The rascal.”“Ships’ provisions are always scamped,” said Bevis; “somebody steals half, and puts in rotten biscuits. It’s quite proper. Why, there’s a quart gone.”John Young, carrying the heavy bottle, could not resist just taking out the cork to see how full it was. And his mouth was very large.“Here’s a mug,” said Mark, who had turned over a heap of things and found a tin cup. They each had a cupful.“Matchlock,” said Bevis.“Matchlock,” said Mark. For while they drank both had had their eyes on their gun-barrel.“Pliers,” said Bevis, taking it up. “Here’s the wire; I want the pliers.”It was not so easy to find the pliers under such a heap of things.“Store-room’s in a muddle,” said Mark.“Put it right,” said the captain.“I’ve got it.”Bevis put the barrel in the stock, and began twisting the copper wire round to fasten it on. Mark searched for the powder-horn and shot-bag. Three strands were twisted neatly and firmly round the barrel and stock—one near the breech, one half-way up, the third near the muzzle. It was then secure.“It looks like a real gun now,” said Mark.“Put your finger on the touch-hole,” said Bevis. Mark did so, while he blew through the barrel.“I can feel the air,” said Mark; “the barrel is clear. Shall I measure the powder?”“Yes.”Bevis shut the pan, Mark poured out the charge from the horn and inserted a wad of paper, which Bevis rammed home with the brass ramrod.Bow-wow—bow-yow!Up jumped Pan, leaped on them, tore round the hut, stood at the doorway and barked, ran a little way out, and came back again to the door, where, with his head over his shoulder, as if beckoning to them to follow, he barked his loudest.“It’s the gun,” said Mark. Pan forgot his trouble at the sound of the ramrod.Next the shot was put in, and then the priming at the pan. A piece of match or cord prepared to burn slowly, about a foot and a half long, was wound round the handle of the stock, and the end brought forward through the spiral of the hammer. Mark struck a match and lit it.“What shall we shoot at?” said Bevis, as they went out at the door. Pan rushed before and disappeared in the bramble bushes, startling a pair of turtle-doves from a hawthorn.“Parrakeets,” said Mark. “They’re smaller than parrots; you can’t shoot flying with a matchlock. There’s a beech; shoot at that.”The sunshine fell on one side of the trunk of a beech, lighting up the smooth bark. They walked up till they thought they were near enough, and planted the staff or rest in the ground. Bevis put the matchlock on it, pushed the lid of the pan open with his thumb, and aimed at the tree. He pulled the trigger; the match descended on the powder in the pan, which went puff! The report followed directly.“Never kicked a bit,” said Bevis, as the sulphury smoke rose; the barrel was too heavy to kick.“Hit!” shouted Mark, who had run to the tree. “Forty dozen shots everywhere.”Bevis came with the gun, and saw the bark dotted all over with shot. He measured the distance back to the rest left standing in the ground, by pacing steadily.“Thirty-two yards.”“My turn,” said Mark.The explosion had extinguished the match, so shutting the pan-lid they loaded the gun again. Before Mark shot, Bevis went to the tree, and fastened a small piece of paper to the bark with a pin. Mark fired and put three shots through the paper. Pan raced and circled round to find the game, and returned with his back covered with cleavers which stuck to his coat. After shooting three times each they thought they would try bullets, but with ball they could do nothing. Four times they each fired at the beech and missed it, though every time they took a more careful aim.“The staff’s too high,” said Mark, “I’m sure that’s it. We ought to kneel, then it would be steadier.”Bevis cut the staff shorter, not without some difficulty, for the old black oak was hard like iron. The next was Mark’s turn. He knelt on one knee, aimed deliberately, and the ball scored the trunk, making a groove along the bark. Bevis tried but missed, so did Mark next time; then again Bevis fired, and missed.“That’s enough,” said Bevis; “I shan’t have any more shooting with bullets.”“But I hit it once.”“But you didn’t hit it twice.”“You never hit it once.”“It wants a top-sight,” said Bevis, not very well pleased. “Nobody can shoot ball without a sight.”“You can’t put one,” said Mark.“I don’t know.” The sight was the only defect of the weapon; how to fasten that on they did not know.“I hit it without a sight,” said Mark.“Chance.”“That it wasn’t.”“It’s time to have dinner, I’m sure,” said Bevis. “The gun is to be put away now. I’ll take it in; you get some sticks for the fire.”“O! very well,” said Mark shortly. “But there’s plenty of sticks inside the stockade!”He followed Bevis and began to make a pile in their enclosed courtyard. Bevis having left the gun in the hut came out and helped him silently.“It’s very hot here.”“Awful!”“Tropics.”“The sun’s overhead.”“Sun-stroke.”“The fire ought to be made in the shadow.”“There’s no shadow here.”“Let us go into the wood then.”“Very well—under the beech.”They went out, and collected a heap of sticks in the shade of the beech at which they had been shooting. Mark lit the fire; Bevis sat down by the beech and watched the flame rise.“Pot,” he said.“Pot—what?” said Mark, still sulky.“Fetch the water.”“What?”“Fetch the water.”“O! I’m not Polly.”“But I’m captain.”“Hum!”However, Mark fetched the pot, filled it at the shore, and presently came back with it, and put it on. Then he sat down too in the shade.“You’ve not finished,” said Bevis.“What else?”“What else; why the bacon.”“Get it yourself.”“Aren’t you going?”“No.”Bevis went to the hut, cut off a slice of bacon, and put it on.Mark went to the hut, fetched a handful of biscuits and two apples, and began to eat them.“You never brought me any,” said Bevis.“You never ordered me, captain.”“Why can’t you be agreeable?”“Why can’t you ask anybody, and do something yourself, too.”“Don’t be a stupe,” said Bevis, “so I will. But get me a biscuit, now do.” At this Mark fetched the bag for him.“We shall have to wait a long time for our dinner,” he said. “They’re just having a jolly one at home.”“While they’re at home and comfortable we’re on an island seven thousand miles from anywhere.”“Savages all round.”“Magic things.”“If they only knew, wouldn’t they be in a state.”“Ships fitted out to find us. But they would not know which way to sail.”“No charts.”“Nothing.”“Never find us. I say, get a fork and try the bacon.”“Don’t look done.”“Put some more sticks on. I say; we forgot the potatoes.”“O! bother. It’s hot; don’t let’s have any. Let’s sit still.”“Right.”Pan looked from one to the other, ran round and came back, went into the underwood and came out again, but finding that it was of no use, and that the gun was really put aside, he presently settled down like them in the shade, and far enough from the fire not to feel any heat from it.“Oaks are banyans, aren’t they?” said Mark. “They used to be, you know,” remembering the exploration of the wood.“Banyans,” said Bevis.“What are beeches?”“O! teak.”“That’s China; aren’t we far from China?”“Ask me presently when I’ve got the astrolabe.”“What are elms? Stop, now I remember; there are no elms!”“How do you know?”“Didn’t I go round the island one day? Besides, you could see them if there were, from the cliff.”“So we could; there are no elms. That shows how different this country is from any other country ever found.”“Poplars?” said Mark in an interrogative tone.“Palms, of course. You can see them miles away like palms in a desert.”“Pictures,” said Mark. “Yes, that’s it. You always see the sun going down, camels with long shadows, and palm-trees. Then I suppose it’s Africa?”“You must wait till we have taken an observation. We shall see too by the stars.”“Firs?” said Mark. “They’re cedars, of course.”“Of course. Willows are blue gums.”“Then it’s near Australia. I expect it is; because, don’t you know, there were no animals in Australia except kangaroos, and there are none here at all. So it’s that sort of country.”“But there are tigers in the reeds.”“Ah, I forgot them.”“Huge boa-constrictors. One of them would reach from here to Serendib. Did you hear that rustling? Most likely that was one.”“Do elephants swim? They might come off here.”“Hippopotami.”“A black rhinoceros; they’re rogues.”“Hyenas.”“Giraffes. They can nibble half-way up the palm-trees.”“Pumas.”“Panthers.”“’Possums.”“Yaks.”“Grizzlies.”“Scorpions.”“Heaps of things on your bed and crawling on the ceiling.”“Jolly!”“Fork up the bacon.”Mark forked it up.“It looks queer,” he said, dropping it in again. “Ought the pot to be on the ashes?”“There’s an iron rod for the kettle to swing on,” said Bevis. “It’s somewhere in the store-room. Is it eight bells yet?”“I expect so,” said Mark. “Rations are late. A mutton chop now, or a fowl—”“Don’t grow here,” said Bevis. “You cut steaks from buffaloes while they’re alive, or fry elephants, or boil turkeys. There are no fowls.”“It seems to me,” said Mark, “that we ought to have the gun here. Suppose some savages were to land from canoes and get between us and the hut? It’s twenty yards to the stockade; more I should think.”“I never thought of that,” said Bevis. “There may be fifty canoes full of them in the reeds, and proas flying here almost. Fetch the gun—quick.”Mark ran and brought it.“Load with ball,” said Bevis.The ball was rammed home. Pan set up a joyous bark.“Kick him,” said Bevis, languidly raising himself on one arm. He had been lying on his back. “He’ll bring the savages, or the crocodiles.”Pan was kicked, and crouched.Mark leaned the gun against the teak-tree, and sat down again.“Awfully hot,” he said.“Always is in the tropics.”“Ought to have an awning,” said Mark; “and hammocks.”“So we did,” said Bevis, sitting up. “How stupid to forget the hammocks. Did you ever see anything like it?”“We can make an awning,” said Mark. “Hang up one of the rugs by the four corners.”“Capital. Come on.”They fastened four pieces of cord to the corners of the rug, but found that the trees did not grow close enough together, so they had to set up two poles near the teak, and tie the cords at one end of the rug to these. The others were tied to a branch of the teak. By the time this was done they had worked themselves hot again putting up the awning to get cool. There was not a breath of wind, and it was very warm even in the double shadow of the teak and the awning.“Bacon must be done,” said Bevis.“Must,” said Mark.They could not rest more than a quarter of an hour. They forked it out, and Mark held it on the fork, while Bevis ran to the hut for a piece of board to put it on, as they had forgotten dishes. Setting the bacon on the board, they put it on the ground under the awning (Pan wanted to sniff at it), and tried a slice. It was not exactly nice, nor disagreeable, considering that they had forgotten to scrape it, or take the rind off. But biscuits were not so good as bread.“We must make some dampers,” said Mark; “you know, flour cakes: we can’t bake, we haven’t got an oven.”“Dampers are proper,” said Bevis. “That’s gold-mining. Very likely there are heaps of nuggets here somewhere—”“Placers.”“And gold-dust in the river.”“No mustard. And I recollected the salt!” said Mark. “I say; is this bacon quite nice?”“Well, no; not quite.”“I don’t like it.”“No, I don’t.”“Wish we could have brought some meat.”“Can’t keep meat under the tropics.”“Shall we chuck it to Pan?”“No, not all. Here, give him a slice. Pooh! He sniff’s at it. Just see! He’s pampered; he won’t eat it. Here, take the board, Mark, and put it in the store-room.”Mark took the board with the bacon on it; and went to the hut. He came back with a mug full of ale, saying they had better drink it before it got quite stale.“We must shoot something,” said Bevis. “We can’t eat much of that stuff.”“Let’s go round the island,” said Mark, “and see if there’s anything about. Parrots, perhaps.”“Pigeon-pie,” said Bevis.“Parrot-pie; just the thing.”“Hammer Pan, or he’ll run on first and spoil everything.”
Splash!
“Is it deep?”
“Not yet.”
Bevis had got his catamaran in and ran out with it some way, as the water was shallow, till it deepened, when he sat astride and paddled. “Come on,” he shouted. Splash! “I’m coming.”
Mark ran in with his in the same manner, and sitting astride paddled about ten yards behind.
“Weeds,” said Bevis, feeling the long rough stalks like string dragging against his feet. “Where? I can’t see.”
“Under water. They will not hurt.”
“There goes a flapper,” (a young wild duck). “I hope we shan’t see the magic wave.”
“Pooh!”
“My bundle is slipping.”
“Pull it up again.”
“It’s all right now.”
“Holloa! Land,” said Bevis, suddenly standing up.
He had reached a shallow where the water was no deeper than his knees.
“A jack struck. There,” said Mark, as he too stood up, and drew his catamaran along with his hand.
Splash!
Bevis was off again, paddling in deeper water. Mark was now close behind.
“There’s a coot; he’s gone into the sedges.”
“Parrots,” said Mark, as two wood-pigeons passed over.
“Which is the right channel?” said Bevis, pausing.
They had now reached the great mass of weeds which came to the surface, and through which it was impossible to move. There were two channels, one appeared to lead straight to the island, the other wound about to the right.
“Which did we come down in the Pinta, when we hid the catamarans?” said Mark.
“Stupe, that’s just what I want to know.”
“Go straight on,” said Mark; “that looks clearest.”
So it did, and Bevis went straight on; but when they had paddled fifty yards they both saw at once that they could not go much farther that way, for the channel curved sharply, and was blocked with weeds.
“We must go back,” said Mark.
“We can’t turn round.”
“We can’t paddle backwards. There I’m in the weeds.”
“Turn round on the plank.”
“Perhaps I shall fall off.”
“Sit sideways first.”
“The plank tips.”
“Very well, I’ll do it first,” said Bevis.
He turned sideways to try and get astride, looking the other way. The plank immediately tipped and pitched him into the water, bundle and all.
“Ah!” said Mark. “Thought you could do it so easy; didn’t you?”
Bevis threw his right arm over the plank, and tried to get on it; but every time he attempted to lift his knee over, the catamaran gave way under him. His paddle floated away. The bundle of clothes on his back, soaked and heavy, kept him down.
Mark paddled towards him, and tried to lift him with one hand, but nearly upset himself. Bevis struggled hard to get on, and so pushed the plank sideways to the edge of the weeds. He felt the rough strings again winding round his feet.
“You’ll be in the weeds,” said Mark, growing alarmed. “Come on my plank. Try. I’ll throw my bundle off.” He began to take it from his back. “Then it will just keep you up. O!”
Bevis put his hands up, and immediately sank under the surface, but he had done it purposely, to free himself from his bundle. The bundle floated, and the cord slipped over his head. Bringing his hands down Bevis as instantly rose to the surface, bumping his head against the catamaran.
“Now I can do it,” he said, blowing the water from his nostrils.
He seized the plank, and laid almost all along in the water, so as to press very lightly on it, his weight being supported by the water, then he got his knee over and sat up.
“Hurrah!”
The bundle was slowly settling down when Mark seized it.
“Never mind about the things being wet,” he said. “Sit still; I’ll fetch your paddle.”
Dragging the bundle in the water by the cord, Mark went after, and recovered Bevis’s paddle. To come back he had to back water, and found it very awkward even for so short a distance. The catamaran would not go straight.
“O! what a stupe I was,” said Bevis. “I’ve got on the same way again.”
In his hurry he had forgotten his object, and got astride facing the island as before.
“Well, I never,” said Mark. “Stop—don’t.”
Bevis slipped off his catamaran again, but this time not being encumbered with the bundle he was up on it again in half a minute, and faced the mainland.
“There,” said he. “Now you can come close. That’s it. Now give me your bundle.”
Mark did so. Afterwards Bevis took the cord of his own bundle, which being in the water was not at all heavy. “Now you can turn.”
Mark slipped off, but managed so that his chest was still on the plank. In that position he worked himself round and got astride the other way.
“Done very well,” said Bevis; “ever so much better than I did. Here.”
Mark slung his bundle, and they paddled back to the shallow water, Bevis towing his soaked dress. They stood up in the shallow and rested a few minutes, and Bevis fastened his bundle to his plank just in front of where he sat.
“Come on.” Off he went again, following the other channel this time. It wound round a bank grown with sedges, and then led straight into a broader and open channel, the same they had come down in the boat. They recognised it directly, and paddled faster.
“Hark! there’s Pan,” said Mark.
As they came near the island, Pan either scented them or heard a splashing, for he set up his bark again. He had choked himself silent before.
“Pan! Pan!” shouted Bevis, whistling.
Yow—wow—wow!
“Hurrah!”
“Hurrah!”
They ran up on the shore of New Formosa, and began to dance and caper, kicking up their heels.
Yow-wow—wow-wow!
“Pan! I’m coming,” said Bevis, and began to run, but stopped suddenly.
Thistles in the grass and trailing briars stayed him. He put on his wet boots, and then picking his way round, reached the hut. He let Pan loose. The spaniel crouched at his feet and whimpered, and followed him, crawling on the ground. Bevis patted him, but he could not leap up as usual, the desertion had quite broken his spirit for the time. Bevis went into the hut, and just as he was, with nothing on but his boots, took his journal and wrote down “Wednesday.”
“There,” said he to Mark, who had now come, more slowly, for he carried the two bundles, “there, I’ve put down the day, else we shall lose our reckoning, don’t you see.”
They were soon dressed. Bevis put on the change he had provided in the store-room, and spread his wet clothes out to dry in the sun. Pan crept from one to the other; he could not get enough patting, he wanted to be continually spoken to and stroked. He would not go a yard from them.
“What’s the time?” said Bevis, “my watch has stopped.” The water had stopped it.
“Five minutes to twelve,” said Mark. “You must write down, ‘We landed on the island at noon.’”
“So I will to-night. My watch won’t go; the water is in it.”
“Lucky mine did not got wet too.”
“Hang yours up in the hut, else perhaps it will get stopped somehow, then we shan’t know the time.”
Mark hung his watch up in the hut, and caught sight of the wooden bottle.
“The first thing people do is to refresh themselves,” he said. “Let’s have a glass of ale: splendid thing when you’re shipwrecked—”
“A libation to the gods,” said Bevis. “That’s the thing; you pour it out on the ground because you’ve escaped.”
“O!” said Mark, opening the bottle. “Now just look! And I filled it to the brim so that I could hardly get the cork in.”
“John,” said Bevis.
“The rascal.”
“Ships’ provisions are always scamped,” said Bevis; “somebody steals half, and puts in rotten biscuits. It’s quite proper. Why, there’s a quart gone.”
John Young, carrying the heavy bottle, could not resist just taking out the cork to see how full it was. And his mouth was very large.
“Here’s a mug,” said Mark, who had turned over a heap of things and found a tin cup. They each had a cupful.
“Matchlock,” said Bevis.
“Matchlock,” said Mark. For while they drank both had had their eyes on their gun-barrel.
“Pliers,” said Bevis, taking it up. “Here’s the wire; I want the pliers.”
It was not so easy to find the pliers under such a heap of things.
“Store-room’s in a muddle,” said Mark.
“Put it right,” said the captain.
“I’ve got it.”
Bevis put the barrel in the stock, and began twisting the copper wire round to fasten it on. Mark searched for the powder-horn and shot-bag. Three strands were twisted neatly and firmly round the barrel and stock—one near the breech, one half-way up, the third near the muzzle. It was then secure.
“It looks like a real gun now,” said Mark.
“Put your finger on the touch-hole,” said Bevis. Mark did so, while he blew through the barrel.
“I can feel the air,” said Mark; “the barrel is clear. Shall I measure the powder?”
“Yes.”
Bevis shut the pan, Mark poured out the charge from the horn and inserted a wad of paper, which Bevis rammed home with the brass ramrod.
Bow-wow—bow-yow!
Up jumped Pan, leaped on them, tore round the hut, stood at the doorway and barked, ran a little way out, and came back again to the door, where, with his head over his shoulder, as if beckoning to them to follow, he barked his loudest.
“It’s the gun,” said Mark. Pan forgot his trouble at the sound of the ramrod.
Next the shot was put in, and then the priming at the pan. A piece of match or cord prepared to burn slowly, about a foot and a half long, was wound round the handle of the stock, and the end brought forward through the spiral of the hammer. Mark struck a match and lit it.
“What shall we shoot at?” said Bevis, as they went out at the door. Pan rushed before and disappeared in the bramble bushes, startling a pair of turtle-doves from a hawthorn.
“Parrakeets,” said Mark. “They’re smaller than parrots; you can’t shoot flying with a matchlock. There’s a beech; shoot at that.”
The sunshine fell on one side of the trunk of a beech, lighting up the smooth bark. They walked up till they thought they were near enough, and planted the staff or rest in the ground. Bevis put the matchlock on it, pushed the lid of the pan open with his thumb, and aimed at the tree. He pulled the trigger; the match descended on the powder in the pan, which went puff! The report followed directly.
“Never kicked a bit,” said Bevis, as the sulphury smoke rose; the barrel was too heavy to kick.
“Hit!” shouted Mark, who had run to the tree. “Forty dozen shots everywhere.”
Bevis came with the gun, and saw the bark dotted all over with shot. He measured the distance back to the rest left standing in the ground, by pacing steadily.
“Thirty-two yards.”
“My turn,” said Mark.
The explosion had extinguished the match, so shutting the pan-lid they loaded the gun again. Before Mark shot, Bevis went to the tree, and fastened a small piece of paper to the bark with a pin. Mark fired and put three shots through the paper. Pan raced and circled round to find the game, and returned with his back covered with cleavers which stuck to his coat. After shooting three times each they thought they would try bullets, but with ball they could do nothing. Four times they each fired at the beech and missed it, though every time they took a more careful aim.
“The staff’s too high,” said Mark, “I’m sure that’s it. We ought to kneel, then it would be steadier.”
Bevis cut the staff shorter, not without some difficulty, for the old black oak was hard like iron. The next was Mark’s turn. He knelt on one knee, aimed deliberately, and the ball scored the trunk, making a groove along the bark. Bevis tried but missed, so did Mark next time; then again Bevis fired, and missed.
“That’s enough,” said Bevis; “I shan’t have any more shooting with bullets.”
“But I hit it once.”
“But you didn’t hit it twice.”
“You never hit it once.”
“It wants a top-sight,” said Bevis, not very well pleased. “Nobody can shoot ball without a sight.”
“You can’t put one,” said Mark.
“I don’t know.” The sight was the only defect of the weapon; how to fasten that on they did not know.
“I hit it without a sight,” said Mark.
“Chance.”
“That it wasn’t.”
“It’s time to have dinner, I’m sure,” said Bevis. “The gun is to be put away now. I’ll take it in; you get some sticks for the fire.”
“O! very well,” said Mark shortly. “But there’s plenty of sticks inside the stockade!”
He followed Bevis and began to make a pile in their enclosed courtyard. Bevis having left the gun in the hut came out and helped him silently.
“It’s very hot here.”
“Awful!”
“Tropics.”
“The sun’s overhead.”
“Sun-stroke.”
“The fire ought to be made in the shadow.”
“There’s no shadow here.”
“Let us go into the wood then.”
“Very well—under the beech.”
They went out, and collected a heap of sticks in the shade of the beech at which they had been shooting. Mark lit the fire; Bevis sat down by the beech and watched the flame rise.
“Pot,” he said.
“Pot—what?” said Mark, still sulky.
“Fetch the water.”
“What?”
“Fetch the water.”
“O! I’m not Polly.”
“But I’m captain.”
“Hum!”
However, Mark fetched the pot, filled it at the shore, and presently came back with it, and put it on. Then he sat down too in the shade.
“You’ve not finished,” said Bevis.
“What else?”
“What else; why the bacon.”
“Get it yourself.”
“Aren’t you going?”
“No.”
Bevis went to the hut, cut off a slice of bacon, and put it on.
Mark went to the hut, fetched a handful of biscuits and two apples, and began to eat them.
“You never brought me any,” said Bevis.
“You never ordered me, captain.”
“Why can’t you be agreeable?”
“Why can’t you ask anybody, and do something yourself, too.”
“Don’t be a stupe,” said Bevis, “so I will. But get me a biscuit, now do.” At this Mark fetched the bag for him.
“We shall have to wait a long time for our dinner,” he said. “They’re just having a jolly one at home.”
“While they’re at home and comfortable we’re on an island seven thousand miles from anywhere.”
“Savages all round.”
“Magic things.”
“If they only knew, wouldn’t they be in a state.”
“Ships fitted out to find us. But they would not know which way to sail.”
“No charts.”
“Nothing.”
“Never find us. I say, get a fork and try the bacon.”
“Don’t look done.”
“Put some more sticks on. I say; we forgot the potatoes.”
“O! bother. It’s hot; don’t let’s have any. Let’s sit still.”
“Right.”
Pan looked from one to the other, ran round and came back, went into the underwood and came out again, but finding that it was of no use, and that the gun was really put aside, he presently settled down like them in the shade, and far enough from the fire not to feel any heat from it.
“Oaks are banyans, aren’t they?” said Mark. “They used to be, you know,” remembering the exploration of the wood.
“Banyans,” said Bevis.
“What are beeches?”
“O! teak.”
“That’s China; aren’t we far from China?”
“Ask me presently when I’ve got the astrolabe.”
“What are elms? Stop, now I remember; there are no elms!”
“How do you know?”
“Didn’t I go round the island one day? Besides, you could see them if there were, from the cliff.”
“So we could; there are no elms. That shows how different this country is from any other country ever found.”
“Poplars?” said Mark in an interrogative tone.
“Palms, of course. You can see them miles away like palms in a desert.”
“Pictures,” said Mark. “Yes, that’s it. You always see the sun going down, camels with long shadows, and palm-trees. Then I suppose it’s Africa?”
“You must wait till we have taken an observation. We shall see too by the stars.”
“Firs?” said Mark. “They’re cedars, of course.”
“Of course. Willows are blue gums.”
“Then it’s near Australia. I expect it is; because, don’t you know, there were no animals in Australia except kangaroos, and there are none here at all. So it’s that sort of country.”
“But there are tigers in the reeds.”
“Ah, I forgot them.”
“Huge boa-constrictors. One of them would reach from here to Serendib. Did you hear that rustling? Most likely that was one.”
“Do elephants swim? They might come off here.”
“Hippopotami.”
“A black rhinoceros; they’re rogues.”
“Hyenas.”
“Giraffes. They can nibble half-way up the palm-trees.”
“Pumas.”
“Panthers.”
“’Possums.”
“Yaks.”
“Grizzlies.”
“Scorpions.”
“Heaps of things on your bed and crawling on the ceiling.”
“Jolly!”
“Fork up the bacon.”
Mark forked it up.
“It looks queer,” he said, dropping it in again. “Ought the pot to be on the ashes?”
“There’s an iron rod for the kettle to swing on,” said Bevis. “It’s somewhere in the store-room. Is it eight bells yet?”
“I expect so,” said Mark. “Rations are late. A mutton chop now, or a fowl—”
“Don’t grow here,” said Bevis. “You cut steaks from buffaloes while they’re alive, or fry elephants, or boil turkeys. There are no fowls.”
“It seems to me,” said Mark, “that we ought to have the gun here. Suppose some savages were to land from canoes and get between us and the hut? It’s twenty yards to the stockade; more I should think.”
“I never thought of that,” said Bevis. “There may be fifty canoes full of them in the reeds, and proas flying here almost. Fetch the gun—quick.”
Mark ran and brought it.
“Load with ball,” said Bevis.
The ball was rammed home. Pan set up a joyous bark.
“Kick him,” said Bevis, languidly raising himself on one arm. He had been lying on his back. “He’ll bring the savages, or the crocodiles.”
Pan was kicked, and crouched.
Mark leaned the gun against the teak-tree, and sat down again.
“Awfully hot,” he said.
“Always is in the tropics.”
“Ought to have an awning,” said Mark; “and hammocks.”
“So we did,” said Bevis, sitting up. “How stupid to forget the hammocks. Did you ever see anything like it?”
“We can make an awning,” said Mark. “Hang up one of the rugs by the four corners.”
“Capital. Come on.”
They fastened four pieces of cord to the corners of the rug, but found that the trees did not grow close enough together, so they had to set up two poles near the teak, and tie the cords at one end of the rug to these. The others were tied to a branch of the teak. By the time this was done they had worked themselves hot again putting up the awning to get cool. There was not a breath of wind, and it was very warm even in the double shadow of the teak and the awning.
“Bacon must be done,” said Bevis.
“Must,” said Mark.
They could not rest more than a quarter of an hour. They forked it out, and Mark held it on the fork, while Bevis ran to the hut for a piece of board to put it on, as they had forgotten dishes. Setting the bacon on the board, they put it on the ground under the awning (Pan wanted to sniff at it), and tried a slice. It was not exactly nice, nor disagreeable, considering that they had forgotten to scrape it, or take the rind off. But biscuits were not so good as bread.
“We must make some dampers,” said Mark; “you know, flour cakes: we can’t bake, we haven’t got an oven.”
“Dampers are proper,” said Bevis. “That’s gold-mining. Very likely there are heaps of nuggets here somewhere—”
“Placers.”
“And gold-dust in the river.”
“No mustard. And I recollected the salt!” said Mark. “I say; is this bacon quite nice?”
“Well, no; not quite.”
“I don’t like it.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Wish we could have brought some meat.”
“Can’t keep meat under the tropics.”
“Shall we chuck it to Pan?”
“No, not all. Here, give him a slice. Pooh! He sniff’s at it. Just see! He’s pampered; he won’t eat it. Here, take the board, Mark, and put it in the store-room.”
Mark took the board with the bacon on it; and went to the hut. He came back with a mug full of ale, saying they had better drink it before it got quite stale.
“We must shoot something,” said Bevis. “We can’t eat much of that stuff.”
“Let’s go round the island,” said Mark, “and see if there’s anything about. Parrots, perhaps.”
“Pigeon-pie,” said Bevis.
“Parrot-pie; just the thing.”
“Hammer Pan, or he’ll run on first and spoil everything.”