The Coral Island - Robert Michael Ballantyne (little readers txt) 📗

island. And we were much saddened

by the reflection that the lot of this poor wanderer might possibly

be our own, after many years’ residence on the island, unless we

should be rescued by the visit of some vessel or the arrival of

natives. Having no clue whatever to account for the presence of

this poor human being in such a lonely spot, we fell to

conjecturing what could have brought him there. I was inclined to

think that he must have been a shipwrecked sailor, whose vessel had

been lost here, and all the crew been drowned except himself and

his dog and cat. But Jack thought it more likely that he had run

away from his vessel, and had taken the dog and cat to keep him

company. We were also much occupied in our minds with the

wonderful difference between the cat and the dog. For here we saw

that while the one perished, like a loving friend, by its master’s

side, with its head resting on his bosom, the other had sought to

sustain itself by prowling abroad in the forest, and had lived in

solitude to a good old age. However, we did not conclude from this

that the cat was destitute of affection, for we could not forget

its emotions on first meeting with us; but we saw from this, that

the dog had a great deal more of generous love in its nature than

the cat, because it not only found it impossible to live after the

death of its master, but it must needs, when it came to die, crawl

to his side and rest its head upon his lifeless breast.

 

While we were thinking on these things, and examining into

everything about the room, we were attracted by an exclamation from

Peterkin.

 

“I say, Jack,” said he, “here is something that will be of use to

us.”

 

“What is it?” said Jack, hastening across the room.

 

“An old pistol,” replied Peterkin, holding up the weapon, which he

had just pulled from under a heap of broken wood and rubbish that

lay in a corner.

 

“That, indeed, might have been useful,” said Jack, examining it,

“if we had any powder; but I suspect the bow and the sling will

prove more serviceable.”

 

“True, I forgot that,” said Peterkin; “but we may as well take it

with us, for the flint will serve to strike fire with when the sun

does not shine.”

 

After having spent more than an hour at this place without

discovering anything of further interest, Peterkin took up the old

cat, which had lain very contentedly asleep on the stool whereon he

had placed it, and we prepared to take our departure. In leaving

the hut, Jack stumbled heavily against the door-post, which was so

much decayed as to break across, and the whole fabric of the hut

seemed ready to tumble about our ears. This put into our heads

that we might as well pull it down, and so form a mound over the

skeleton. Jack, therefore, with his axe, cut down the other door-post, which, when it was done, brought the whole hut in ruins to

the ground, and thus formed a grave to the bones of the poor

recluse and his dog. Then we left the spot, having brought away

the iron pot, the pistol, and the old axe, as they might be of much

use to us hereafter.

 

During the rest of this day we pursued our journey, and examined

the other end of the large valley, which we found to be so much

alike to the parts already described, that I shall not recount the

particulars of what we saw in this place. I may, however, remark,

that we did not quite recover our former cheerful spirits until we

arrived at our bower, which we did late in the evening, and found

everything just in the same condition as we had left it three days

before.

 

CHAPTER XII.

 

Something wrong with the tank - Jack’s wisdom and Peterkin’s

impertinence - Wonderful behaviour of a crab - Good wishes for

those who dwell far from the sea - Jack commences to build a little

boat.

 

REST is sweet as well for the body as for the mind. During my long

experience, amid the vicissitudes of a chequered life, I have found

that periods of profound rest at certain intervals, in addition to

the ordinary hours of repose, are necessary to the wellbeing of

man. And the nature as well as the period of this rest varies,

according to the different temperaments of individuals, and the

peculiar circumstances in which they may chance to be placed. To

those who work with their minds, bodily labour is rest. To those

who labour with the body, deep sleep is rest. To the downcast, the

weary, and the sorrowful, joy and peace are rest. Nay, further, I

think that to the gay, the frivolous, the reckless, when sated with

pleasures that cannot last, even sorrow proves to be rest of a

kind, although, perchance, it were better that I should call it

relief than rest. There is, indeed, but one class of men to whom

rest is denied. There is no rest to the wicked. At this I do but

hint, however, as I treat not of that rest which is spiritual, but,

more particularly, of that which applies to the mind and to the

body.

 

Of this rest we stood much in need on our return home, and we found

it exceedingly sweet, when we indulged in it, after completing the

journey just related. It had not, indeed, been a very long

journey, nevertheless we had pursued it so diligently that our

frames were not a little prostrated. Our minds were also very much

exhausted in consequence of the many surprises, frequent alarms,

and much profound thought, to which they had been subjected; so

that when we lay down on the night of our return under the shelter

of the bower, we fell immediately into very deep repose. I can

state this with much certainty, for Jack afterwards admitted the

fact, and Peterkin, although he stoutly denied it, I heard snoring

loudly at least two minutes after lying down. In this condition we

remained all night and the whole of the following day without

awaking once, or so much as moving our positions. When we did

awake it was near sunset, and we were all in such a state of

lassitude that we merely rose to swallow a mouthful of food. As

Peterkin remarked, in the midst of a yawn, we took breakfast at

tea-time, and then went to bed again, where we lay till the

following forenoon.

 

After this we arose very greatly refreshed, but much alarmed lest

we had lost count of a day. I say we were much alarmed on this

head, for we had carefully kept count of the days since we were

cast upon our island, in order that we might remember the Sabbath-day, which day we had hitherto with one accord kept as a day of

rest, and refrained from all work whatsoever. However, on

considering the subject, we all three entertained the same opinion

as to how long we had slept, and so our minds were put at ease.

 

We now hastened to our Water Garden to enjoy a bathe, and to see

how did the animals which I had placed in the tank. We found the

garden more charming, pelucid, and inviting than ever, and Jack and

I plunged into its depth, and gambolled among its radiant coral

groves; while Peterkin wallowed at the surface, and tried

occasionally to kick us as we passed below. Having dressed, I then

hastened to the tank; but what was my surprise and grief to find

nearly all the animals dead, and the water in a putrid condition!

I was greatly distressed at this, and wondered what could be the

cause of it.

 

“Why, you precious humbug,” said Peterkin, coming up to me, “how

could you expect it to be otherwise? When fishes are accustomed to

live in the Pacific Ocean, how can you expect them to exist in a

hole like that?”

 

“Indeed, Peterkin,” I replied, “there seems to be truth in what you

say. Nevertheless, now I think of it, there must be some error in

your reasoning; for, if I put in but a few very small animals, they

will bear the same proportion to this pond that the millions of

fish bear to the ocean.”

 

“I say, Jack,” cried Peterkin, waving his hand, “come here, like a

good fellow. Ralph is actually talking philosophy. Do come to our

assistance, for he’s out o’ sight beyond me already!”

 

“What’s the matter?” inquired Jack, coming up, while he endeavoured

to scrub his long hair dry with a towel of cocoa-nut cloth.

 

I repeated my thoughts to Jack, who, I was happy to find, quite

agreed with me. “Your best plan,” he said, “will be to put very

few animals at first into your tank, and add more as you find it

will bear them. And look here,” he added, pointing to the sides of

the tank, which, for the space of two inches above the water-level,

were incrusted with salt, “you must carry your philosophy a little

farther, Ralph. That water has evaporated so much that it is too

salt for anything to live in. You will require to add FRESH water

now and then, in order to keep it at the same degree of saltness as

the sea.”

 

“Very true, Jack, that never struck me before,” said I.

 

“And, now I think of it,” continued Jack, “it seems to me that the

surest way of arranging your tank so as to get it to keep pure and

in good condition, will be to imitate the ocean in it. In fact

make it a miniature Pacific. I don’t see how you can hope to

succeed unless you do that.”

 

“Most true,” said I, pondering what my companion said. “But I fear

that that will be very difficult.”

 

“Not at all,” cried Jack, rolling his towel up into a ball, and

throwing it into the face of Peterkin, who had been grinning and

winking at him during the last five minutes. “Not at all. Look

here. There is water of a certain saltness in the sea; well, fill

your tank with sea water, and keep it at that saltness by marking

the height at which the water stands on the sides. When it

evaporates a little, pour in FRESH water from the brook till it

comes up to the mark, and then it will be right, for the salt does

not evaporate with the water. Then, there’s lots of sea-weed in

the sea; - well, go and get one or two bits of sea-weed, and put

them into your tank. Of course the weed must be alive, and growing

to little stones; or you can chip a bit off the rocks with the weed

sticking to it. Then, if you like, you can throw a little sand and

gravel into your tank, and the thing’s complete.”

 

“Nay, not quite,” said Peterkin, who had been gravely attentive to

this off-hand advice, “not quite; you must first make three little

men to dive in it before it can be said to be perfect, and that

would be rather difficult, I fear, for two of them would require to

be philosophers. But hallo! what’s this? I say, Ralph, look here.

There’s one o’ your crabs up to something uncommon. It’s

performing the most remarkable operation for a crab I ever saw, -

taking off its coat, I do believe, before going to bed!”

 

We hastily stooped over the tank, and certainly were not a little

amused at the conduct of one