It was on the southern shore of what is now known as France that our hero and his comrades in misfortune were cast.
At the time we write of, we need hardly say, the land was nameless. Even her old Roman name of Gaul had not yet been given to her, for Rome itself had not been founded. The fair land was a vast wilderness, known only—and but slightly—to the adventurous mariners of the east, who, with the spirit of Columbus, had pushed their discoveries and trade far beyond the Pillars of Hercules.
Of course the land was a vast solitude, inhabited, sparsely, by a few of those wandering tribes which had been driven westward—by conquest or by that desire for adventure which has characterised the human race, we suppose, ever since Adam and Eve began to explore the regions beyond Eden. Like the great wilderness lying to the north of Canada at the present time, it was also the home of innumerable wild animals which afforded to its uncivilised inhabitants both food and clothing.
Captain Arkal was the only one of the three survivors of the wreck who had seen that coast before or knew anything about it, for, when Bladud had entered the Mediterranean many years before, he had passed too far to the southward to see the northern land.
As they staggered up the beach to a place where the thundering waves sent only their spray, Bladud looked round with some anxiety.
“Surely,” he said, “some of the crew must have escaped. It can hardly be that we three are the only survivors out of so many.”
The party halted and looked back at the seething waves from which they had just escaped.
“It would be foul shame to us,” said the captain, “if we did not try to lend a helping hand to our comrades; but we shall find none of them here. I observed when they started that, in spite of my warning, they made straight for the land, instead of keeping well to windward to avoid being swept round that point of rock to the west. I led you in the right direction, and that is why we alone are here. If any of the others have been saved, they must be on the other side of that point.”
While he was speaking, the captain had hurried into the woods, intending to cross the neck of land which separated them from the bay beyond the point referred to.
Their strength returned as they ran, for their intense desire to render aid to those of their late comrades who might stand in need of it seemed to serve them in the stead of rest.
“Come, quick!” cried little Maikar, whose catlike activity and strength enabled him to outrun his more bulky companions. “We may be too late; and some of them can’t swim—I know.”
They reached the crest of a ridge a few minutes later, and, halting, looked at each other in dismay, for the bay beyond the point was full of great rocks and boulders, among which the waves rushed with such fury that they spouted in jets into the air, and covered the sea with foam.
“No living soul can have landed there,” said the captain, in a tone that showed clearly he had given up all hope.
“But some may have been swept round the next point,” suggested Maikar eagerly, commencing to run forward as he spoke.
Bladud followed at once, and so did the captain, but it was evident that he regarded any further effort as useless.
It proved a longer and more toilsome march than they had expected to pass beyond the second point, and when at last it was reached, there was not a speck at all resembling a human being to be seen on the coast, in all its length of many miles.
“No hope,” murmured Bladud.
“None,” returned the captain.
Little Maikar did not speak, but the expression of his countenance showed that he was of the same opinion.
“Now,” resumed the captain, after a brief silence, “if we would not starve we must go straight back, and see whether any provisions have been washed ashore.”
They did not, however, return to the spot where they had landed, for they knew that the same current which had carried their hapless comrades to the westward must have borne the remains of the wreck in the same direction. Descending, therefore, to the foam-covered bay before referred to, they searched its margin carefully, but for some time found nothing—not even a scrap of wreck.
At last, just as they were about to give up in despair, and turn to some other method of obtaining food, they observed a portion of the wreck that had been driven high up on the beach into a cleft of rock. Running eagerly towards it, they found that it was only a plank.
Bladud and the captain looked at it for a moment or two in silence, and Maikar gave vent to a groan of disappointment.
“Never mind,” said the prince, lifting the plank and laying it on his shoulder, in the quiet thoughtful way that was peculiar to him, “it will serve to make a fire and keep us warm.”
“But we need not to be kept warm, for the weather is fine and hot,” said Maikar, with a rueful expression. “Moreover, we need food, and we cannot eat a plank!”
The prince did not reply, but led the way towards a neighbouring cliff.
“Don’t you think we had better make our fire in the woods, Bladud?” asked the captain.
“That would oblige one of us to watch in case natives or wolves should attack us, and none of us are in a fit state to watch. We must sleep.”
“But I can’t sleep without first eating,” said Maikar in a remonstrative tone. “Should we not go to the woods first and try to catch something?”
“Can you on foot run down the hare, the deer, the bear, the wild-boar, or even the rabbit?”
“Not I. My legs are swift enough, though short, but they are not equal to that.”
“Well, then, as we have neither bow nor shaft, and my good sword would be of little use against such game, why waste our time and strength in the woods?”
“But we might find honey,” suggested Maikar.
“And if we did not find honey, what then?”
“Berries,” answered the little man.
“Berries are not nearly ripe yet.”
“True, I forgot that.”
“Say you did not know it, man,” interposed the captain with a laugh; “never be ashamed of confessing ignorance in regard to things that you’re not bound to know. Lead on, Bladud, we will follow. You know more of woodcraft than either of us. If it were the sea we had to do battle with I would claim to lead. On land, being only a babe, I freely resign the helm to one who knows how to steer.”
Agreeing to this arrangement, Bladud led his companions up the steep face of a cliff until a projecting ledge was reached, which was just wide enough to form a camping-ground with a perpendicular cliff at the back, and with its other sides so precipitous as to render the approach of enemies—whether two or four-legged—exceedingly difficult. By piling a few stones at the head of the path by which it was reached, they rendered it impossible for any one to approach without awakening the sleepers.
Bladud then, using his sword as a hatchet, chipped off some pieces of the plank, and directed his companions to cut away the wet parts of these and reduce the dry parts to shavings.
They obeyed this order in silence, and wonderingly, for a fire seemed useless, their encampment being well sheltered from the wind, and, as we have said, the weather was warm. By means of a cord, a rude bow, and a drill made of a piece of dry wood, their leader soon procured fire, and, in a few minutes, a bright flame illumined their persons and the cliff behind them.
As the shades of evening were falling by that time, the aspect of things was much improved by the change.
“Now, comrades,” said the prince, undoing the breast of his tunic, and drawing from either side a flat mass of dark substance that resembled old dried cow-hide, “we shall have supper, and then—to rest.”
“Dried meat!” exclaimed little Maikar, his eyes—and indeed his whole visage—blazing with delighted surprise.
“Right. Maikar. I knew that you would be hungry when we got ashore, so I caught up two pieces of meat and stuffed them into my breast just as we were leaving—one for Arkal and me; the other for you. It may not be quite enough, perhaps, but will do, I hope, to keep you quiet till morning.”
“Nay, I shall content me with my fair share, it I may claim a share at all of what I had no hand in procuring. It was wise of you to do this. How came you to think of it?”
“To say truth, I can lay claim to neither wisdom nor forethought,” answered the prince, dividing the food into equal portions. “The meat chanced to be lying close to my hand as I was about to leap into the sea. Had I seen it sooner, I would have advised all to take some in the same way. There, now, set to and cook it. For myself, I feel so sleepy that I’m half inclined to eat it raw.”
The jerked or dried meat which had been thus opportunely brought away, may be said to have been half cooked in the drying process, and indeed, was sometimes eaten in its dried condition, when it was inconvenient to cook it. In a few minutes, therefore, the supper was ready, and, in a few minutes more, it was disposed of—for strong jaws, sound teeth and good appetite make short work of victuals.
By that time the night had set in; the gale was moderating; the stars had come out, and there seemed every prospect of a speedy and favourable change in the weather. With darkness came the wolves and other creatures of the night, both furred and feathered. Against the former the party was protected by the steep ascent and the barricade, but the latter kept swooping down out of darkness, ever and anon, glaring at them for a moment with round inquiring eyes and sweeping off, as if affrighted, in unearthly silence.
Little heed was paid to these sights and sounds, however, by our adventurers, who were filled with sadness at the loss of their ship and comrades.
They spoke but little during the meal, and, after partially drying themselves, lay down with their feet towards the fire, and almost instantly fell asleep. Being trained to a hardy life, they did not feel the want of couch or covering, and healthy exhaustion prevented dreams from disturbing their repose.
Gradually the fire died down; the howling of the wolves ceased; the night-birds betook them to their haunts, and no sound was heard in or around the camp except the soft breathing of the sleepers and the booming of the distant waves.
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |