Chapter Three.

 Explorations and Discoveries.

 

As the sun had bathed the golden cave when our castaways went to sleep, so it flooded their simple dwelling when they awoke.

 

“Then,” exclaims the intelligent reader, “the sun must have risen in the west!”

 

By no means, good reader. Whatever man in his wisdom, or weakness, may do or say, the great luminaries of day and night hold on the even tenor of their way unchanged. But youth is a wonderful compound of strength, hope, vitality, carelessness, and free-and-easy oblivion, and, in the unconscious exercise of the last capacity, Pauline and her brothers had slept as they lay down, without the slightest motion, all through that night, all through the gorgeous sunrise of the following morning, all through the fervid noontide and the declining day, until the setting sun again turned their resting-place into a cave of gold.

 

The effect upon their eyelids was such that they winked, and awoke with a mighty yawn. We speak advisedly. There were not three separate awakenings and three distinct yawns; no, the rousing of one caused the rousing of the others in succession so rapidly that the yawns, commencing with Pauline’s treble, were prolonged, through Otto’s tenor down to Dominick’s bass, in one stupendous monotone or slide, which the last yawner terminated in a groan of contentment. Nature, during the past few days, had been doubly defrauded, and she, having now partially repaid herself, allowed her captives to go free with restored vigour. There was, however, enough of the debt still unpaid to induce a desire in the captives to return of their own accord to the prison-house of Oblivion, but the desire was frustrated by Otto, who, sitting up suddenly and blinking at the sun with owlish gravity, exclaimed—

 

“Well, I never! We’ve only slept five minutes!”

 

“The sun hasn’t set yet!”

 

Dominick, replying with a powerful stretch and another yawn, also raised himself on one elbow and gazed solemnly in front of him. A gleam of intelligence suddenly crossed his countenance.

 

“Why, boy, when we went to sleep the sun was what you may call six feet above the horizon; now it is twelve feet if it is an inch, so that if it be still setting, it must be setting upwards—a phenomenon of which the records of astronomical research make no mention.”

 

“But it is setting?” retorted Otto, with a puzzled look, “for I never heard of your astronomical searchers saying that they’d ever seen the sun rise in the same place where it sets.”

 

“True, Otto, and the conclusion I am forced to is that we have slept right on from sunset to sunset.”

 

“So, then, we’ve lost a day,” murmured Pauline, who in an attitude of helpless repose, had been winking with a languid expression at the luminous subject of discussion.

 

“Good morning, Pina,” said Dominick.

 

“Good evening, you mean,” interrupted his brother. “Well, good evening. It matters little which; how have you slept?”

 

“Soundly—oh, so soundly that I don’t want to move.”

 

“Well, then, don’t move; I’ll rise and get you some breakfast.”

 

“Supper,” interposed Otto.

 

“Supper be it; it matters not.—But don’t say we’ve lost a day, sister mine. As regards time, indeed, we have; but in strength I feel that I have gained a week or more.”

 

“Does any one know,” said Otto, gazing with a perplexed expression at the sky—for he had lain back again with his hands under his head—”does any one know what day it was when we landed?”

 

“Thursday, I think,” said Dominick.

 

“Oh no,” exclaimed Pauline; “surely it was Wednesday or Tuesday; but the anxiety and confusion during the wreck, and our terrible sufferings afterwards in the little boat, have quite confused my mind on that point.”

 

“Well, now, here’s a pretty state of things,” continued Otto, sleepily; “we’ve lost one day, an’ we don’t agree about three others, and Dom says he’s gained a week! how are we ever to find out when Sunday comes, I should like to know? There’s a puzzler—a reg’lar—puzzl’—puz—”

 

A soft snore told that “tired Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,” had again taken the little fellow captive, and prolonged silence on the part of the other two proved them to have gone into similar captivity. Nature had not recovered her debt in full. She was in an exacting mood, and held them fast during the whole of another night. Then she set them finally free at sunrise on the following day, when the soft yellow light streamed on surrounding land and sea, converting their sleeping-place into a silver cave by contrast.

 

There was no languid or yawny awakening on this occasion. Dominick sat up the instant his eyes opened, then sprang to his feet, and ran out of the cave. He was followed immediately by Otto and Pauline, the former declaring with emphasis that he felt himself to be a “new man.”

 

“Yes, Richard’s himself again,” said Dominick, as he stretched himself with the energy of one who rejoices in his strength. “Now, Pina, we’ve got a busy day before us. We must find out what our islet contains in the way of food first, for I am ravenously hungry, and then examine its other resources. It is very beautiful. One glance suffices to tell us that. And isn’t it pleasant to think that it is all our own?”

 

“‘The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof,’” said his sister, softly.

 

The youth’s gaiety changed into a deeper and nobler feeling. He looked earnestly at Pauline for a few seconds.

 

“Right, Pina, right,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I was half-ashamed of my feelings that time when I broke into involuntary prayer and thanksgiving. I’m ashamed now of having been ashamed. Come, sister, you shall read the Word of God from memory, and I will pray every morning and evening as long as we shall dwell here together.”

 

That day they wandered about their islet with more of gaiety and light-heartedness than they would have experienced had they neglected, first, to give honour to God, who not only gives us all things richly to enjoy, but also the very capacity for enjoyment.

 

But no joy of earth is unmingled. The exploration did not result in unmitigated satisfaction, as we shall see.

 

Their first great object, of course, was breakfast.

 

“I can’t ask you what you’ll have, Pina. Our only dish, at least this morning,” said Dominick, glancing upwards, “is—”

 

“Cocoa-nuts,” put in Otto.

 

Otto was rather fond of “putting in” his word, or, as Dominick expressed it, “his oar.” He was somewhat pert by nature, and not at that time greatly modified by art.

 

“Just so, lad,” returned his brother; “and as you have a considerable spice of the monkey in you, be good enough to climb up one of these palms, and send down a few nuts.”

 

To do Otto justice, he was quite as obliging as he was pert; but when he stood at the foot of the tall palm-tree and looked up at its thick stem, he hesitated.

 

“D’you know, Dom,” he said, “it seems to me rather easier to talk about than to do?”

 

“You are not the first who has found that out,” returned his brother, with a laugh. “Now, don’t you know how the South Sea islanders get up the palm-trees?”

 

“No; never heard how.”

 

“Why, I thought your great authority Robinson Crusoe had told you that.”

 

“Don’t think he ever referred to it. Friday may have known how, but if he did, he kept his knowledge to himself.”

 

“I wish you two would discuss the literature of that subject some other time,” said Pauline. “I’m almost sinking for want of food. Do be quick, please.”

 

Thus urged, Dominick at once took off his neckcloth and showed his brother how, by tying his feet together with it at a sufficient distance apart, so as to permit of getting a foot on each side of the tree, the kerchief would catch on the rough bark, and so form a purchase by which he could force himself up step by step, as it were, while grasping the stem with arms and knees.

 

Otto was an apt scholar in most things, especially in those that required activity of body. He soon climbed the tree, and plucked and threw down half a dozen cocoa-nuts. But when these had been procured, there still remained a difficulty, for the tough outer husk of the nuts, nearly two inches thick, could not easily be cut through with a clasp-knife so as to reach that kernel, or nut, which is ordinarily presented to English eyes in fruit-shops.

 

“We have no axe, so must adopt the only remaining method,” said Dominick.

 

Laying a nut on a flat rock, he seized a stone about twice the size of his own head, and, heaving it aloft, brought it down with all his force on the nut, which was considerably crushed and broken by the blow. With perseverance and the vigorous use of a clasp-knife he at last reached the interior. Thereafter, on cocoa-nut meat and cocoa-nut milk, with a draught from a pool in the thicket they partook of their first breakfast on the reef.

 

“Now, our first duty is to bury the skeleton,” said Dominick, when the meal was concluded; “our next to examine the land; and our last to visit the wreck. I think we shall be able to do all this in one day.”

 

Like many, perhaps we may say most, of man’s estimates, Dominick’s calculation was short of the mark, for the reef turned out to be considerably larger than they had at first supposed. It must be remembered that they had, up to that time, seen it only from the low level of the sea, and from that point of view it appeared to be a mere sandbank with a slight elevation in the centre, which was clothed with vegetation. But when the highest point of this elevation was gained, they discovered that it had hidden from their view not only a considerable stretch of low land which lay behind, but an extensive continuation of the lagoon, or salt-water lake, in which lay a multitude of smaller islets of varying shapes, some mere banks of sand, others with patches of vegetation in their centres, and a few with several cocoa-nut palms on them, the nucleus, probably, of future palm groves. A large island formed the background to this lovely picture, and the irregular coral reef guarded the whole from the violence of the ocean. In some places this reef rose to a considerable height above the sea-level. In others, it was so little above it that each falling breaker almost buried it in foam; but everywhere it was a sufficient protection to the lagoon, which lay calm and placid within, encircled by its snowy fringe,—the result of the watery war outside. In one spot there was a deep entrance into this beautiful haven of peace, and that chanced to be close to the golden cave, and was about fifty yards wide. At the extremity of the reef, on the other side of this opening, lay another elevated spot, similar to their own, though smaller, and with only a few palms in the centre of it. From the sea this eminence had appeared to be a continuation of the other, and it was only when they landed that the Rigondas discovered the separation caused by the channel leading into the lagoon.

 

“Fairyland!” exclaimed Pauline, who could scarcely contain herself with delight at the marvellous scene of beauty that had so unexpectedly burst upon their view.

 

“Rather a noisy and bustling fairyland too,” said Otto, referring to the numerous sea-birds that inquisitively came to look at them, as well as to the other waterfowl that went about from isle to isle on whistling wings.

 

The boy spoke jestingly, but it was clear from his heaving chest, partially-open mouth, and glittering eyes, that his little heart was stirred to an unwonted depth of emotion.

 

“Alas! that we have lost our boat,” exclaimed Dominick.

 

To this Otto replied by expressing an earnest wish that he were able to swim as well as a South Sea islander, for in that case he would launch forth and spend the remainder of that day in visiting all the islands.

 

“Yes; and wouldn’t it be charming,” responded his brother, “to pay your aquatic visits in such pleasant company as that?”

 

He pointed to an object, which was visible at no great distance, moving about on the surface of the glassy sea with great activity.

 

“What creature is that?” asked Pauline.

 

“It is not a creature, Pina, only part of a creature.”

 

“You don’t mean to say it’s a shark!” cried Otto, with a frown.

 

“Indeed it is—the back-fin of one at least—and he must have heard you, for he seems impatient to join you in your little trip to the islands.”

 

“I’ll put it off to some future day, Dom. But isn’t it a pity that such pretty places should be spoiled by such greedy and cruel monsters?”

 

“And yet they must have been made for some good purpose,” suggested Pauline.

 

“I rather suspect,” said Dominick, “that if game and fish only knew who shoot and catch them, and afterwards eat them, they might be inclined to call man greedy and cruel.”

 

“But we can’t help that Dom. We must live, you know.”

 

“So says or thinks the shark, no doubt, when he swallows a man.”

 

While the abstruse question, to which the shark had thus given rise, was being further discussed, the explorers returned to the thicket, where they buried the skeleton beside the other graves. A close search was then made for any object that might identify the unfortunates or afford some clue to their history, but nothing of the sort was found.

 

“Strange,” muttered Dominick, on leaving the spot after completing their task. “One would have expected that, with a wrecked ship to fall back upon, they would have left behind them evidences of some sort—implements, or books, or empty beef-casks,—but there is literally nothing.”

 

“Perhaps,” suggested Pauline, “the men did not belong to this wreck. They may have landed as we have done out of a small boat, and the vessel we now see may have been driven here after they were dead.”

 

“True, Pina, it may have been so. However, the matter must remain a mystery for the present. Meanwhile we will go and explore the low land behind our reef.”

 

“Isn’t it strange, Dom, that we should become landed proprietors in this fashion?” remarked Otto, as they walked along.

 

“And that, too,” added Pauline, “at a time when our hopes were lowest and our case most desperate.”

 

“’Tis a magnificent estate,” said Dominick, “of which we will constitute Pina the Queen, myself the Prime Minister, and Otto the army.”

 

To this Otto objected that, as it was the business of an army to defend the people and keep them in order, there was no use for an army, seeing that there were no people; but Dominick replied that a queen and prime minister formed part of a people, and that an army was required to defend them.

 

“To keep them in order, you should say,” retorted Otto, “for that will clearly be my chief duty if I accept the situation. Well, I’ve no objection, on the whole, to be an army; but, please, remember that in time of peace an army is expected to do no laborious work, and that at all times it is clothed and fed by the State. Now, Queen Pina the First, what would your Majesty wish the army to do?”

 

“Go forth and subdue the land,” replied Pina the First, promptly, with quite a regal sweep of her hand towards the low ground and the lagoon beyond.

 

“Will your Majesty deign to instruct me how I am to begin?”

 

The Queen hesitated. She was rather puzzled, as rulers sometimes are when required to tackle details.

 

“May it please your Majesty,” said Dominick, coming to the rescue like a true premier, “it is the chief duty of a prime minister to advise his sovereign. If it be your pleasure, I would recommend that the army should be sent down into yonder clump of reeds to ascertain what revenue is to be derived from the inhabitants thereof in the shape of wildfowl, eggs, etcetera, while I visit the shore of the lagoon to ascertain the prospects of supply, in the form of shellfish, from that quarter. Meanwhile, I would further advise your Majesty to sit down on this coral throne, and enjoy the contemplation of your kingdom till we return.”

 

With a dignified bow and a little laugh Queen Pina assented, and the Prime Minister went off to the shore, while the army defiled towards the marsh.

 

Left alone, Pina the First soon forgot her royal condition in contemplation of the lovely prospect before her. As she gazed over the sand, and across the lagoon, and out on the gleaming sea, her thoughts assumed the wings of the morning and flew away over the mighty ocean to old England. Sadness filled her heart, and tears her eyes, as she thought of a mild little mother who had, since the departure of her three children, been reduced for companionship to a huge household cat, and who would ere long be wondering why letters were so long of coming from the dear ones who had left her.

 

Pauline had a vivid imagination and great power of mental abstraction. She summoned up the image of the little mother so successfully that she felt as if she actually saw her knitting her socks, sadly, with her head on one side. She even heard her address the cat (she was accustomed to address the cat when alone), and express a hope that in the course of a month or six weeks more she might expect to have news of the absent ones. And Pauline almost saw the household cat, which occupied its usual place on the table at the old lady’s elbow, blink its eyes with sympathy—or indifference, she could not be quite sure which. Then Pauline’s wayward thoughts took a sudden flight to the island of Java, in the China seas, where she beheld a bald little old gentleman—a merchant and a shipowner—who was also her father, and who sat reading a newspaper in his office, and was wondering why his good ship Flying Fish—which was bringing his children to him besides a quantity of other goods—did not make its appearance, and she plainly saw the look of disappointment as he threw the paper down, exclaiming, “Odd, very odd, but she must turn up soon.”

 

Pauline saw nothing more after that for some time, because her eyes were blinded with tears.

 

Then Queen Pina cheered up again, for she thought that surely a ship would soon pass the island and take them off. As this last thought became more definite (for Pina was very young and hopeful) her eyes dried and permitted her to observe her kingdom more clearly.

 

The Prime Minister, she observed, was still busy on the shore, and, from his frequently stooping to pick up something, she argued that the affairs of State in that quarter were prospering.

 

Presently, from the midst of a mass of reeds not far off, there arose a shout, easily recognisable as that of the army, which was followed by cries of a stupendous, yet extremely familiar, kind. Pauline started up in considerable haste, and a moment later beheld the chief authors of the noise burst from the clump of reeds in the form of a large sow and a troop of little pigs.

 

They were evidently in a state of wild alarm, for, besides squealing with a degree of intensity possible only to pigs, they ran in such furious haste that they stumbled over sticks and stones in reckless confusion, scrambling to their feet again in such a hurry as to ensure repeated falls, and, generally, twirling themselves and their tails in a manner that was consistent with nothing short of raving madness.

 

Little wonder that those creatures acted thus, for, close on their heels, gasping and glaring, the army burst forth and fell on them—literally fell on one of them, for Otto in his anxiety to catch the hindmost pig, a remarkably small but active animal, tripped over a root just as he was about to lay hold of its little tail, and fell on the top of it with fearful violence. The mechanical pressure, combining with the creature’s spiritual efforts, produced a sudden yell that threw the cries of its companions quite into the shade. It might have sufficed to blow Otto into the air. Indeed, it seemed as if some such result actually followed, for, after turning a complete somersault, the boy was on his feet again as if by magic; but so also was the little pig, which, being thus forcibly separated from its family, turned aside and made for the main thicket. To cut off its retreat, the army made a sudden flank movement, headed the enemy, grasped it by the curly tail, and sought to lift it into his arms, but the curly tail straightened out, and, being exceedingly thin as well as taper, slipped from his hand. Need we say that the little pig came to the ground with a remonstrative squeal? It also rolled over. Otto, unable to check himself, flew past. The pig rose, diverged, and resumed its headlong flight. Otto doubled, came close up again, “stooped to conquer,” and was on the point of coming off victorious, when, with a final shriek of mingled rage and joy, the enemy rushed through a hole under a prickly bush, while the discomfited army plunged headlong into the same, and stuck fast.

 

Meanwhile the rest of the porcine family had found refuge in an almost impenetrable part of the thicket.

 

“Pork, your Majesty,” said Otto, on returning from the field of battle, “may at all events be counted as one of the products of your dominions.”

 

“Truly it would seem so,” responded the Queen, with a laugh; “nevertheless there does not appear to be much hope of its forming a source of supply to the royal larder.”

 

“Time will show,” said Dominick, coming up at the moment; “and see, here are several kinds of shellfish, which will form a pleasant addition to our fare.”

 

“Ay, and I saw eggs among the reeds,” said Otto, “some of which—”

 

“Not pigs’ eggs, surely?” interrupted Dominick.

 

“They may be so,” retorted Otto; “the fact that English pigs don’t lay eggs, is no argument against South Sea pigs doing so, if they choose. But, as I was about to say, your Majesty, when the Premier interrupted me—some of these eggs I gathered, and would have presented them as an offering from the army, if I had not fallen and crushed them beyond repair.”

 

In corroboration of what he said, Otto opened his coat pocket and revealed in its depths a mass of yellow substance, and broken shells.

 

“Horrible!” exclaimed Pauline; “how will you ever get it cleaned?”

 

“By turning it inside out—thus, most gracious Queen.”

 

He reversed the pocket as he spoke, allowing the yellow compound to drip on the ground, and thereafter wiped it with grass.

 

“I wouldn’t have minded this loss so much,” he continued, “if I had not lost that little pig. But I shall know him again when I see him, and you may depend on it that he is destined ere long to be turned into pork chops.”

 

“Well, then, on the strength of that hope we will continue the survey of our possessions,” said Dominick, leading the party still further into the low grounds.

 

For some time the trio wandered about without making any further discoveries of importance until they came to a thicket, somewhat similar to the one near which they had been cast on shore, but much smaller. On entering it they were startled by a loud cackling noise, accompanied by the whirring of wings.

 

“Sounds marvellously like domestic fowls,” said Dominick, as he pushed forward. And such it turned out to be, for, on reaching an open glade in the thicket, they beheld a large flock of hens running on ahead of them, with a splendid cock bringing up the rear, which turned occasionally to cast an indignant look at the intruders.

 

“That accounts for your eggs, Otto,” observed Pauline.

 

“Yes, and here are more of them,” said the boy, pointing to a nest with half a dozen eggs in it, which he immediately proceeded to gather.

 

“It is quite evident to me,” remarked Dominick, as they continued to advance, “that both the pigs and fowls must have been landed from the wreck that lies on the shore, and that, after the death of the poor fellows who escaped the sea, they went wild. Probably they have multiplied, and we may find the land well stocked.”

 

“I hope so. Perhaps we may find some more traces of the shipwrecked crew,” suggested Pauline.

 

Their expectations were not disappointed, for, on returning in the evening from their tour of exploration, they came on a partially cleared place in the thicket beside the golden cave, which had evidently been used as a garden. In the midst of a mass of luxuriant undergrowth, which almost smothered them, vegetables of various kinds were found growing—among others the sweet potato.

 

Gathering some of these, Otto declared joyfully that he meant to have a royal feast that night, but a difficulty which none of them had thought of had to be faced and overcome before that feast could be enjoyed. It was just as they arrived at the golden cave that this difficulty presented itself to their minds.

 

“Dom,” said Otto, with a solemn look, “how are we to make a fire?”

 

“By kindling it, of course.”

 

“Yes, but, you stupid Premier, where are we to find a light?”

 

“To tell you the truth, my boy,” returned Dominick, “I never thought of that till this moment, and I can’t very well see my way out of the difficulty.”

 

Pauline, to whom the brothers now looked, shook her head. Never before, she said, had she occasion to trouble her brain about a light. When she wanted one in England, all she had to do was to call for one, or strike a match. What was to be done in their present circumstances she had not the smallest conception.

 

“I’ll tell you what,” said Otto, after several suggestions had been made and rejected, “this is how we’ll do it. We will gather a lot of dry grass and dead sticks and build them up into a pile with logs around it, then Pina will sit down and gaze steadily at the heart of the pile for some minutes with her great, brown, sparkling eyes she should be able to kindle a flame in the heart of almost anything in five minutes—or, say ten, at the outside, eh?”

 

“I should think,” retorted the Queen, “that your fiery spirit or flashing wit might accomplish the feat in a shorter time.”

 

“It seems to me,” remarked Dominick, who had been thinking too hard to pay much regard to these pleasantries, “that if we live long here we shall have to begin life over again—not our own lives, exactly, but the world’s life. We shall have to invent everything anew for ourselves; discover new methods of performing old familiar work, and, generally, exercise our ingenuity to the uttermost.”

 

“That may be quite true, you philosophic Premier,” returned Otto, “but it does not light our fire, or roast that old hen which you brought down with a stone so cleverly to-day. Come, now, let us exercise our ingenuity a little more to the purpose, if possible.”

 

“If we had only some tinder,” said Dominick, “we could find flint, I dare say, or some hard kind of stone from which fire could be struck with the back of a clasp-knife, but I have seen nothing like tinder to-day. I’ve heard that burnt rag makes capital tinder. If so, a bit of Pina’s dress might do, but we can’t burn it without fire.”

 

For a considerable time the trio sought to devise some means of procuring fire, but without success, and they were at last fain to content themselves with another cold supper of cocoa-nut and water, after which, being rather tired, they went to rest as on the previous night.