The Castaways of the Flag (8 page)

           
It was now
the 13th of October. Nearly a year had passed since the
Unicorn
had left
the island, whither she was due to return about this time. At Rock Castle, M.
and Mme. Zermatt, Ernest and Jack, Mr. and Mrs. Wolston and Hannah, were
counting the days and hours.

           
In a few
weeks more, after her stay at Cape Town, the
Unicorn
would appear in New
Switzerland waters, and then the Zermatts and Wolstons would learn that their
missing dear ones had taken their passage in the
Flag,
which had not
been seen again. Could they doubt that she had perished with all hands in one
of the frequent storms that rage in the Indian Ocean? Would there be room for
hope that they would ever see her passengers again?

           
All that was
in the future, however; the immediate present held quite enough formidable
possibilities to engage their attention.

           
Ever since
Frank had pointed out the land, the boatswain had been steadily steering in a
northerly direction, not an easy task without a compass. The position indicated
by Frank was only approximate, and unfortunately the thick curtain veiled the
horizon line, which, from observers on the level of the sea, must still be ten
or twelve miles away.

           
The oars had
been got out. Fritz and James were rowing with all the strength they could
exert. But in their state of exhaustion they could not lift the heavily loaded
boat, and it would take them the entire day to cover the distance which lay
between them and the shore.

           
God grant that
the wind might not thwart all their efforts! On the whole it would be better if
the calm endured till evening. Should the breeze blow from the north, the boat
would be carried far back from these waters.

           
By midday it
was questionable whether more than a couple of miles had been done since
morning. The boatswain suspected that a current was setting in the opposite
direction.

           
About two
o'clock in the afternoon John Block, who was standing up, exclaimed:—

           
"A
breeze is coming; I can feel it! The jib by itself will do more than the
oars."

           
The boatswain
was not mistaken. A few minutes later little flaws began to paint green the
surface of the water in the south-west, and a creamy ripple spread right to the
sides of the boat.

           
"That
shows you are right, Block," said Fritz. "But still, the breeze is so
faint that we must not stop rowing."

           
"We
won't stop, Mr. Fritz," the boatswain answered; "let us plug away
until the sail can carry us towards the coast."

           
"Where
is it?" asked Fritz, trying in vain to look through the curtain of fog.

           
"Right
in front of us, for sure!"

           
"Is it
so certain, Block?" Frank put in.

           
"Where
would you have it be, except behind that cursed fog up there in the
north?" the boatswain retorted.

           
"We
would have it there all right," James Wolston said. "But that is not
surety enough!"

           
And they
could not possibly know, unless the wind should freshen.

           
This it made
no haste to do, and it was after three when the napping of the half-clewed sail
showed that it might now be of use.

           
The oars were
taken in, and Fritz and Frank hoisted the foresail and hauled it in hard, while
the boatswain secured the sheet which was thrashing the gunwale.

           
Was it
nothing more than a capricious breeze, whose intermittent breath would not be
strong enough to disperse the fog?

           
For twenty
minutes more doubt reigned. Then the swell took the boat broadside on, and the
boatswain had to bring her head round with one of the sculls. The foresail and
the jib bellied out, drawing the sheets quite taut.

           
The direction
they had to take was northward, until the wind should clear the horizon.

           
They hoped
that this might happen as soon as the breeze had got so far. So all eyes were
fixed in that direction. If the land showed only for one moment, John Block
would ask no more, but would steer for it.

           
But no rift
appeared in the veil, although the wind seemed to acquire force as the sun went
down. The boat was moving fairly fast. Fritz and the boatswain were beginning
to wonder if they had passed the land.

           
Doubt crept
into their hearts again. Had Frank been mistaken, after all? Had he really
caught sight of land to the northward?

           
He declared
again most positively that he had.

           
"It was
a high coast," he declared again, "a cliff with an almost horizontal
crest, and it was impossible to mistake a cloud for it."

           
"Yet,
since we are bearing down upon it," Fritz replied, "we ought to have
reached it by now. It could not have been more than twelve or fifteen miles off
then."

           
"Are you
sure, Block," Frank went on, "that you have been steering the boat on
to it all the time, and that it was due north?"

           
"It is
possible that we have got on a wrong tack," the boatswain acknowledged.
"And so I think it would be better to wait until the horizon clears, even
if we have to stay where we are all night."

           
That might be
the best thing to do. But if the boat were close to the shore it would not be
wise to risk it among the reefs which probably fringed it.

           
So all
listened intently, trying to detect the least sound of surf.

           
Nothing was
to be heard—none of the long and sullen rolling of the sea when it breaks upon
reefs of rocks, or bursts in foam upon the beach.

           
The utmost
caution had to be exercised. About half-past five, the boatswain ordered the
foresail to be struck. The jib was left as it was, to give steerage way.

           
It was the
wisest thing to do, to reduce the speed of the boat until the land was sighted.

           
At night, in
the midst of such profound darkness, there was danger in venturing near a
coast—danger of counter-currents drifting on to it, though there might be no
wind. In similar conditions a ship would not have delayed until the evening to
put out again and seek the security of the open sea. But a boat cannot do what
a ship may. To tack up against the southerly wind, which was freshening now,
would have involved a risk of getting too far away—not to mention the severe
toil.

           
So the boat
stayed where it was, with only the jib sail set, hardly moving, her head
pointed north.

           
But at last
all uncertainty and all possibility of mistake was removed. About six o'clock
in the evening the sun showed itself for a moment before disappearing below the
waves.

           
On the 21st
of September it set exactly in the west, and on the 13th of October,
twenty-three days after the equinox, it set a little above in the southern
hemisphere. Just at that moment the fog lifted, and Fritz could see the sun
drawing near to the horizon. Ten minutes later its fiery disc was flush with
the line of sky and sea.

           
"That is
the north, over there!" said Fritz, pointing with his hand to a point
rather to the left of that on which the boat was headed.

           
Almost at
once he was answered by a shout, a shout that all of them uttered together.

           
"Land!
Land!"

           
The mist had
just dispersed, and the coast line was revealed not more than a mile away.

           
The boatswain
steered straight for it. The foresail was set again and swelled out in the
dying breeze.

           
Half an hour
later the boat had grounded on a sandy beach, and was made fast behind a long
point of rock, well sheltered from the surf.

           
THE castaways
had reached land at last! Not one of them had succumbed to the fatigue and
privations of their fortnight's voyage under such distressing and dangerous
conditions, and for that thanks were due to God. Only Captain Gould was
suffering terribly from fever. But in spite of his exhaustion, his life did not
appear to be in danger, and a few days' rest might set him up again.

           
The question
rose, what was this land on which they had disembarked?

           
Whatever it
was, it unhappily was not New Switzerland, where, but for the mutiny of Robert
Borupt and his crew, the
Flag
would have arrived within the expected
time. What had this unknown shore to offer instead of the comfort and
prosperity of Rock Castle?

           
But this was
not the moment to waste time over such questions. The night was so dark that
nothing could be seen except a strand backed by a lofty cliff, at its sides
bastions of rock. It was settled that all should remain in the boat until
sunrise. Fritz and the boatswain were to keep watch until the morning. The
coast might be frequented by natives, and vigilance was necessary. Whether it
were Australian continent or Pacific Island, they must be upon their guard. In
the event of attack they would be able to escape by putting out to sea.

           
Jenny, Dolly,
and Susan therefore resumed their places beside Captain Gould. Frank and James
stretched themselves out between the benches, ready to spring up at the call of
the boatswain. But for the moment they had reached the limit of their strength,
and they fell asleep immediately.

           
Fritz and
John Block sat together in the stern and talked in low tones.

           
"So here
we are in harbour, Mr. Fritz," said the boatswain; "I knew we should
end by getting there. If it isn't, properly speaking, a harbour, you will agree
at any rate that it is ever so much better than anchoring among rocks. Our boat
is safe for the night. To-morrow we will look into things."

           
"I envy
you your cheerfulness, my dear Block," Fritz answered. "This
neighbourhood does not inspire me with any confidence, and our position is
anything but comfortable near a coast whose bearings we do not even know."

           
"The
coast is a coast, Mr. Fritz. It has got creeks and beaches and rocks; it is
made like any other, and I don't suppose it will sink from under our feet. As
for the question of leaving it, or of settling on it, we will decide that
later."

           
"Anyhow,
Block, I hope we shall not be obliged to put to sea again before the captain
has had a little time to rest and recover. So if the spot is deserted, if it
has resources to offer, and we run no risk of falling into the hands of
natives, we must stay here some time."

           
"Deserted
it certainly seems to be so far," the boatswain replied, "and to my
thinking, it is better it should be."