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

could

never fly far at a time, and never mounted into the air like birds,

but skimmed along the surface of the sea. Jack and I had it for

dinner, and found it remarkably good.

 

When we approached Cape Horn, at the southern extremity of America,

the weather became very cold and stormy, and the sailors began to

tell stories about the furious gales and the dangers of that

terrible cape.

 

“Cape Horn,” said one, “is the most horrible headland I ever

doubled. I’ve sailed round it twice already, and both times the

ship was a’most blow’d out o’ the water.”

 

“An’ I’ve been round it once,” said another, “an’ that time the

sails were split, and the ropes frozen in the blocks, so that they

wouldn’t work, and we wos all but lost.”

 

“An’ I’ve been round it five times,” cried a third, “an’ every time

wos wuss than another, the gales wos so tree-mendous!”

 

“And I’ve been round it no times at all,” cried Peterkin, with an

impudent wink of his eye, “an’ THAT time I wos blow’d inside out!”

 

Nevertheless, we passed the dreaded cape without much rough

weather, and, in the course of a few weeks afterwards, were sailing

gently, before a warm tropical breeze, over the Pacific Ocean.

Thus we proceeded on our voyage, sometimes bounding merrily before

a fair breeze, at other times floating calmly on the glassy wave

and fishing for the curious inhabitants of the deep, - all of

which, although the sailors thought little of them, were strange,

and interesting, and very wonderful to me.

 

At last we came among the Coral Islands of the Pacific, and I shall

never forget the delight with which I gazed, - when we chanced to

pass one, - at the pure, white, dazzling shores, and the verdant

palm-trees, which looked bright and beautiful in the sunshine. And

often did we three long to be landed on one, imagining that we

should certainly find perfect happiness there! Our wish was

granted sooner than we expected.

 

One night, soon after we entered the tropics, an awful storm burst

upon our ship. The first squall of wind carried away two of our

masts; and left only the foremast standing. Even this, however,

was more than enough, for we did not dare to hoist a rag of sail on

it. For five days the tempest raged in all its fury. Everything

was swept off the decks except one small boat. The steersman was

lashed to the wheel, lest he should be washed away, and we all gave

ourselves up for lost. The captain said that he had no idea where

we were, as we had been blown far out of our course; and we feared

much that we might get among the dangerous coral reefs which are so

numerous in the Pacific. At day-break on the sixth morning of the

gale we saw land ahead. It was an island encircled by a reef of

coral on which the waves broke in fury. There was calm water

within this reef, but we could only see one narrow opening into it.

For this opening we steered, but, ere we reached it, a tremendous

wave broke on our stern, tore the rudder completely off, and left

us at the mercy of the winds and waves.

 

“It’s all over with us now, lads,” said the captain to the men;

“get the boat ready to launch; we shall be on the rocks in less

than half an hour.”

 

The men obeyed in gloomy silence, for they felt that there was

little hope of so small a boat living in such a sea.

 

“Come boys,” said Jack Martin, in a grave tone, to me and Peterkin,

as we stood on the quarterdeck awaiting our fate; - “Come boys, we

three shall stick together. You see it is impossible that the

little boat can reach the shore, crowded with men. It will be sure

to upset, so I mean rather to trust myself to a large oar, I see

through the telescope that the ship will strike at the tail of the

reef, where the waves break into the quiet water inside; so, if we

manage to cling to the oar till it is driven over the breakers, we

may perhaps gain the shore. What say you; will you join me?”

 

We gladly agreed to follow Jack, for he inspired us with

confidence, although I could perceive, by the sad tone of his

voice, that he had little hope; and, indeed, when I looked at the

white waves that lashed the reef and boiled against the rocks as if

in fury, I felt that there was but a step between us and death. My

heart sank within me; but at that moment my thoughts turned to my

beloved mother, and I remembered those words, which were among the

last that she said to me - “Ralph, my dearest child, always

remember in the hour of danger to look to your Lord and Saviour

Jesus Christ. He alone is both able and willing to save your body

and your soul.” So I felt much comforted when I thought thereon.

 

The ship was now very near the rocks. The men were ready with the

boat, and the captain beside them giving orders, when a tremendous

wave came towards us. We three ran towards the bow to lay hold of

our oar, and had barely reached it when the wave fell on the deck

with a crash like thunder. At the same moment the ship struck, the

foremast broke off close to the deck and went over the side,

carrying the boat and men along with it. Our oar got entangled

with the wreck, and Jack seized an axe to cut it free, but, owing

to the motion of the ship, he missed the cordage and struck the axe

deep into the oar. Another wave, however, washed it clear of the

wreck. We all seized hold of it, and the next instant we were

struggling in the wild sea. The last thing I saw was the boat

whirling in the surf, and all the sailors tossed into the foaming

waves. Then I became insensible.

 

On recovering from my swoon, I found myself lying on a bank of soft

grass, under the shelter of an overhanging rock, with Peterkin on

his knees by my side, tenderly bathing my temples with water, and

endeavouring to stop the blood that flowed from a wound in my

forehead.

 

CHAPTER III.

 

The Coral Island - Our first cogitations after landing, and the

result of them - We conclude that the island is uninhabited.

 

THERE is a strange and peculiar sensation experienced in recovering

from a state of insensibility, which is almost indescribable; a

sort of dreamy, confused consciousness; a half-waking half-sleeping

condition, accompanied with a feeling of weariness, which, however,

is by no means disagreeable. As I slowly recovered and heard the

voice of Peterkin inquiring whether I felt better, I thought that I

must have overslept myself, and should be sent to the masthead for

being lazy; but before I could leap up in haste, the thought seemed

to vanish suddenly away, and I fancied that I must have been ill.

Then a balmy breeze fanned my cheek, and I thought of home, and the

garden at the back of my father’s cottage, with its luxuriant

flowers, and the sweet-scented honey-suckle that my dear mother

trained so carefully upon the trellised porch. But the roaring of

the surf put these delightful thoughts to flight, and I was back

again at sea, watching the dolphins and the flying-fish, and

reefing topsails off the wild and stormy Cape Horn. Gradually the

roar of the surf became louder and more distinct. I thought of

being wrecked far far away from my native land, and slowly opened

my eyes to meet those of my companion Jack, who, with a look of

intense anxiety, was gazing into my face.

 

“Speak to us, my dear Ralph,” whispered Jack, tenderly, “are you

better now?”

 

I smiled and looked up, saying, “Better; why, what do you mean,

Jack? I’m quite well”

 

“Then what are you shamming for, and frightening us in this way?”

said Peterkin, smiling through his tears; for the poor boy had been

really under the impression that I was dying.

 

I now raised myself on my elbow, and putting my hand to my

forehead, found that it had been cut pretty severely, and that I

had lost a good deal of blood.

 

“Come, come, Ralph,” said Jack, pressing me gently backward, “lie

down, my boy; you’re not right yet. Wet your lips with this water,

it’s cool and clear as crystal. I got it from a spring close at

hand. There now, don’t say a word, hold your tongue,” said he,

seeing me about to speak. “I’ll tell you all about it, but you

must not utter a syllable till you have rested well.”

 

“Oh! don’t stop him from speaking, Jack,” said Peterkin, who, now

that his fears for my safety were removed, busied himself in

erecting a shelter of broken branches in order to protect me from

the wind; which, however, was almost unnecessary, for the rock

beside which I had been laid completely broke the force of the

gale. “Let him speak, Jack; it’s a comfort to hear that he’s

alive, after lying there stiff and white and sulky for a whole

hour, just like an Egyptian mummy. Never saw such a fellow as you

are, Ralph; always up to mischief. You’ve almost knocked out all

my teeth and more than half choked me, and now you go shamming

dead! It’s very wicked of you, indeed it is.”

 

While Peterkin ran on in this style, my faculties became quite

clear again, and I began to understand my position. “What do you

mean by saying I half choked you, Peterkin?” said I.

 

“What do I mean? Is English not your mother tongue, or do you want

me to repeat it in French, by way of making it clearer? Don’t you

remember - “

 

“I remember nothing,” said I, interrupting him, “after we were

thrown into the sea.”

 

“Hush, Peterkin,” said Jack, “you’re exciting Ralph with your

nonsense. I’ll explain it to you. You recollect that after the

ship struck, we three sprang over the bow into the sea; well, I

noticed that the oar struck your head and gave you that cut on the

brow, which nearly stunned you, so that you grasped Peterkin round

the neck without knowing apparently what you were about. In doing

so you pushed the telescope, - which you clung to as if it had been

your life, - against Peterkin’s mouth - “

 

“Pushed it against his mouth!” interrupted Peterkin, “say crammed

it down his throat. Why, there’s a distinct mark of the brass rim

on the back of my gullet at this moment!”

 

“Well, well, be that as it may,” continued Jack, “you clung to him,

Ralph, till I feared you really would choke him; but I saw that he

had a good hold of the oar, so I exerted myself to the utmost to

push you towards the shore, which we luckily reached without much

trouble, for the water inside the reef is quite calm.”

 

“But the captain and crew, what of them?” I inquired anxiously.

 

Jack shook his head.

 

“Are they lost?”

 

“No, they are not lost, I hope, but I fear there is not much chance

of their being saved. The ship struck at the very tail of the

island on which we are cast. When the boat was tossed into the sea

it fortunately did not upset, although it shipped a good deal of

water, and all the men managed to scramble