CHAPTER XXVI.

THE STRANGE ISLAND.

When they came on deck, day was breaking. The stars were still sparkling brightly in the blue zenith, and in the western quarter of the sky; but they paled away and faded out, as dawn spread over the east, and stole across the ocean in those long streaks of light that are rendered so weird, strange, and indistinct, from having only the tops of the lone waves to rest upon.

There is, indeed, something glorious and impressive in the dawn of a new day, as it spreads over the unlimited space of the mighty deep; and this effect increases in its splendour, as the sun, with tropical rapidity, heaves up at the horizon, amid a burst of golden haze, and then all becomes life and light. There is no eagle there to soar towards him, with the dew on his pinions, and no lark to sing at "heaven's gate;" but the petrels trip along the brine, the huge porpoise soars through the foam rejoicingly, and the silvery flying fish flits like a little spirit from the spray.

The wind was very light; the vessel was creeping along under a cloud of canvas, and as Morley came on deck the watch were busy swabbing it. No need was there to drench it first with water; there had been a rough gale in the morning watch, during which Morrison had ordered the foresail and foretopsail to be hoisted; since then, the wind had come in angry puffs, and then died gradually away.

Now the ship was almost becalmed, and there, sure enough, upon her weather bow, a few miles off, lay the land which Morrison had so confidently reported, rising in dark and opaque outline, like a dusky patch of indigo, against the yellow and gold of the sky beyond, and the amber sea, that lay in middle distance.

For a time it looked like a dark cloud resting on the sunlit ocean, from which it might arise and melt away, but, gradually, as the ship crept on, the form of a headland, and some tuft-like palm-trees, became defined against the sky.

Higher rose the sun, and ere long the beams began to gild this headland, and to shine glitteringly on the face of a bluff, in which it terminated.

"Land it is--but land here!" said Captain Bartelot.

"An island, and not a very small one either," added Morley.

"It is most extraordinary!"

"How so?"

"Bring up the chart, Morrison," said Bartelot, unheeding his friend's query, "and the log-book, too, with yesterday's reckoning and observation."

Morrison dived below, but speedily re-appeared, with a chart and the ship's log.

"At twelve, sir, yesterday, when we were running away from that rascally piccaroon, we were in latitude 28--25 south; longitude 35--20 west, Tristan d'Acunha bearing sixty-six miles to the eastward."

"That is not Tristan, but an island about three miles long, and there is no indication of it whatever in the chart. It is covered with trees; but I can see no sign of a human habitation," observed Bartelot, as he resumed his telescope.

Light though the wind, the ship gradually crept nearer the island; and by breakfast time is was abeam of her, and about four miles distant.

Save the rock before mentioned, no part of it was very high; it seemed to be about the size stated by Bartelot, and yet, strange to say, it was not recorded or borne in any map or chart on board.

Now there fell a dead and listless calm.

The sun was burning hot and the sea glistened like oil beneath its rays, but the fertility and greenness of this nameless and unknown isle were charming to look upon. Morley regretted the fresh delay occasioned by this calm, especially after the lost hundred miles yesterday (though a hundred were a trifle after Morrison's galling calculation of the oceans he had yet to traverse), but he could not resist the emotions of curiosity and novelty so peculiar to his age and temperament; and thus he expressed a strong wish to visit this _terra incognita_--this beautiful island of the southern sea. But Bartelot hesitated.

"It may be the head-quarters, the rendezvous, of those who pursued us yesterday," said he; "and some of their sort, shipmates and companions, may be lurking among those thickets, the foliage of which seems so inviting."

"Save the sea-birds, I cannot discover a living object about it," urged Morley.

"There may be savages--who can say?--and most likely wild animals. There are some very ferocious boars on Tristan d'Acunha, and other South Sea isles. Then we have no arms."

"The revolver and two fowling-pieces----"

"Are not enough, Morley."

"Come, let us be off."

"Lastly, a sudden breeze might spring up, and blow the ship off the island to sea, so far that the boat, and what would be worse, its crew, might be lost. Four sufficient reasons, Morley, for not venturing ashore."

So Bartelot resisted all his friend's importunities, and the day passed away in idleness, after an observation had been taken at noon, and the exact bearings of the island recorded in the ship's log by Morrison, for the information of the Admiralty, Lloyd's, and others in London.

The calm continued; not a speck could be traced in the unclouded sky, betokening a coming wind, or a casual current of air. The ship lay like a log, with her courses clewed up, her spanker brailed and all the rest of her canvas hanging loose and straight from the yardheads; the wheel, left to itself, oscillated a spoke or two, alternately to port and starboard. There seemed to be little or no current in the water; she had probably not moved in any way more than half her own length for three hours, as Morley perceived by a bunch of seaweed, the top tuft of some mighty trailer (the root of which was, perhaps, forty fathoms deep in the bed of the ocean), which rested on the oily surface of the water, and remained in the same position, with regard to the ship, about five feet from the port quarter-gallery.

In the first dog-watch, about four o'clock P.M., finding matters still thus, and seeing all quiet on the isle, the whole outline of which was reflected downward, as if in a mirror, and with wonderful minuteness, the captain ordered the gig to be lowered. The fowling-pieces and revolver were carefully loaded, capped, and placed in her, and then he, Morley, old Gawthrop, and three more of the crew shoved off for the shore, or, as they called it, in default of a better name, "Bill Morrison's Island!"

The light gig shot swiftly over the smooth sea, which our friends soon perceived to be full of gigantic trailers and floating leaves; amid these, through the translucent waters, at a vast depth from its surface, the finny tribes, especially the beautiful silver fish, could be seen darting to and fro.

A little sandy creek or bight, bordered by mangrove trees and wild palms, opened before the boat, and offered a secure landing place, though overhung by rocks, that seemed to be literally alive with albatrosses, sea-hens, and other aquatic birds.

In a short space, Morley, Bartelot, and Noah Gawthrop, with the three fire-arms, leaped ashore, and desiring their three shipmates who were in the gig to lie on their oars a few yards off, to prevent any surprise, they started on their tour of discovery.

The island was covered with wood, the foliage of which was singularly luxuriant, and of the most lovely green. Many of the trees and plants were strongly aromatic, and filled the air with delicious perfume. The myrtles, in particular, were of gigantic size, and there were several groves of the graceful cocoa-palm, under which were gourds, ground apples, and other tropical vegetables, growing in wild luxuriance.

A bird suddenly whirred up from the covert at Morley's feet.

Bang went one of the barrels of his fowling-piece, and the bird fell with flapping wings a few yards off, while hundreds of others, scared apparently by a sound so unusual as the report of a gun, flew hither and thither in confusion and dismay.

"A good shot, Morley," said Bartelot; "but reload instantly, and don't fire again. We don't know whom we may meet in these woods, so it is as well to be prepared."

The bird proved to be a species of black-cock, that is not uncommon in the islands of the South Atlantic.

"Keep a bright look-out ahead, sir," said Noah Gawthrop in a low voice; "this island ain't quite so desolate as it looks, arter all."

"How?"

"I'm blessed if here ain't a regular made road, and no mistake, captain."

As Noah spoke, he pointed to a distinct foot track, or narrow beaten way, that passed through the grass. In one direction it led to a spring of deliciously cool and pure water, that fell plashing amid the sylvan silence from the face of a rock, which was covered with brilliant wild flowers; in the other it led away through a thicket of myrtles, from amid which some wild goats fled, as our explorers cautiously, and with cocked fire-arms, proceeded onward.

Morley was thinking of Ethel, and if with her what an Eden this lonely isle would be; but it was not without emotions of considerable anxiety and curiosity that he and his two companions continued to pursue the narrow track, which ascended in regular zigzag windings to the summit of that high rock, which they had first discerned at sea, and on the face of which the morning sun had shone so brightly.

"It is merely a track made by the goats or wild boars," said Bartelot; "the spring below seems to be the only one in the island, and there, no doubt, they drink."

"Mayhap, sir, the wild boars, and the wild goatses made the road; but 'twasn't them as made this bit o' furnitur--out of a ship's sheathing, too," exclaimed Noah, when, on the very summit of the eminence, that overlooked a vast expanse of sea, they came upon a rude seat, formed, apparently, by the number of holes pierced through it at regular intervals, from a piece of ship's planking, pegged down upon two uprights, which were securely driven into the turf.

The pathway ended here, and the soil about the seat seemed bare and denuded of grass, as if worn away by the feet of frequent sitters.

"What can this mean on such a place?" observed Tom Bartelot, perspiring with heat, and pushing his straw hat on one side of his handsome curly head.

"It means, sir, as there is some reg'lar-built Robinson Crusoe a livin' on this here island, and has made himself this seat to take a good squint to seaward comfortable ov a mornin', to look out for a ship, or, it may be, for the king of the Cannibal Islands, and them cussed ribroasting salwages in their piratical canoos."

This idea of Noah Gawthrop's seemed extremely probable; but after making a circuit of the entire island, they found themselves again on the eminence without discovering other traces of the supposed recluse.

After hallooing repeatedly, scaring all kinds of wild birds from the thickets above, and the gorse or jungle below, they descended towards the spring; but before reaching it found a track that diverged from thence into the very centre of the isle.

Proceeding onward, their curiosity becoming whetted at every step, they perceived a piece of cleared ground, covered with fine grass, on which some goats and little kids, that appeared quite tame, were browsing.

Near this, enclosed by a fence of branches, torn from trees, stuck in the earth, and twisted together, was a small garden, wherein were some turnips, potatoes, radishes, ground apples, and other esculents growing; and sheltered by a grove of giant myrtles, close by, was a little hut, or wigwam, formed of driftwood, fragments of wreck, palm leaves, and turf.

It measured only about twelve feet by ten; it was about nine feet in height, and was covered by masses of beautiful scarlet-runners, and other parasitical plants of the tropics.

The door, a panelled mahogany one, which had evidently been once a portion of a large ship's cabin, was open; so the explorers advanced, and, on entering, beheld a very remarkable, and, indeed, appalling spectacle.