University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

Our young mate, and his sole assistant, Bob Betts, had
set about their work on the stream-cable and anchor, the
lightest and most manageable of all the ground-tackle in
the vessel. Both were strong and active, and both were
expert in the use of blocks, purchases, and handspikes;
but the day was seen lighting the eastern sky, and the anchor
was barely off the gunwale, and ready to be stoppered.
In the meanwhile the ship still tended in the right direction,
the wind had moderated to a mere royal-breeze, and
the sea had so far gone down as nearly to leave the vessel
without motion. As soon as perfectly convinced of the
existence of this favourable state of things, and of its being
likely to last, Mark ceased to work, in order to wait for
day, telling Bob to discontinue his exertions also. It was
fully time, for both of those vigorous and strong-handed
men were thoroughly fatigued with the toil of that eventful
morning.

The reader may easily imagine with what impatience
our two mariners waited the slow return of light. Each
minute seemed an hour, and it appeared to them as if the
night was to last for ever. But the earth performed its
usual revolution, and by degrees sufficient light was obtained
to enable Mark and Bob to examine the state of
things around them. In order to do this the better, each
went into a top, looking abroad from those elevations on
the face of the ocean, the different points of the reef, and
all that was then and there to be seen. Mark went up
forward, while Bob ascended into the main-top. The distance

between them was so small, that there was no difficulty
in conversing, which they continued to do, as was
natural enough to men in their situation.

The first look that each of our mariners bestowed, after
he was in his top, was to leeward, which being to the
westward, was of course yet in the darkest point of the
horizon. They expected to obtain a sight of at least one
island, and that quite near to them, if not of a group. But
no land appeared! It is true, that it was still too dark to
be certain of a fact of this sort, though Mark felt quite
assured that if land was finally seen, it must be of no great
extent, and quite low. He called to Bob, to ascertain what
he thought of appearances to leeward, his reputation as a
look-out being so great.

“Wait a few minutes, sir, till we get a bit more day,”
answered his companion. “There is a look on the water,
about a league off here on the larboard quarter, that seems
as if something would come out of it. But, one thing can
be seen plain enough, Mr. Mark, and that 's the breakers.
There 's a precious line on 'em, and that too one within
another, as makes it wonderful how we ever got through
'em as well as we did!”

This was true enough, the light on the ocean to windward
being now sufficient to enable the men to see, in that
direction, to a considerable distance. It was that solemn
hour in the morning when objects first grow distinct, ere
they are touched with the direct rays from the sun, and
when everything appears as if coming to us fresh and renovated
from the hands of the Creator. The sea had so far
gone down as to render the breakers much less formidable
to the eye, than when it was blowing more heavily;
but this very circumstance made it impossible to mistake
their positions. In the actual state of the ocean, it was
certain that wherever water broke, there must be rocks or
shoals beneath; whereas, in a blow, the combing of an
ordinary sea might be mistaken for the white water of
some hidden danger. Many of the rocks, however, lay so
low, that the heavy, sluggish rollers that came undulating
along, scarce did more than show faint, feathery lines of
white, to indicate the character of the places across which
they were passing. Such was now the case with the reef

over which the ship had beaten, the position of which could
hardly have been ascertained, or its danger discovered, at
the distance of half a mile. Others again were of a very
different character, the water still tumbling about them like
so many little cataracts. This variety was owing to the
greater depth at which some of the rocks lay than others.

As to the number of the reefs, and the difficulty in getting
through them, Bob was right enough. It often happens
that there is an inner and an outer reef to the islands
of the Pacific, particularly to those of coral formation; but
Mark began to doubt whether there was any coral at all
in the place where the Rancocus lay, in consequence of
the entire want of regularity in the position of these very
breakers. They were visible in all directions; not in continuous
lines, but in detached parts; one lying within
another, as Bob had expressed it, until the eye could not
reach their outer limits. How the ship had got so completely
involved within their dangerous embraces, without
going to pieces on a dozen of the reefs, was to him matter
of wonder; though it sometimes happens at sea, that dangers
are thus safely passed in darkness and fog, that no
man would be bold enough to encounter in broad daylight,
and with a full consciousness of their hazards. Such then
had been the sort of miracleby which the Rancocus had
escaped; though it was no more easy to see how she was
to be got out of her present position, than it was to see
how she had got into it. Bob was the first to make a remark
on this particular part of the subject.

“It will need a reg'lar branch here, Mr. Mark, to carry
the old Rancocus clear of all them breakers to sea again,”
he cried. “Our Delaware banks is just so many fools to
'em, sir!”

“It is a most serious position for a vessel to be in, Bob,”
answered Mark, sighing—“nor do I see how we are ever
to get clear of it, even should we get back men enough to
handle the ship.”

“I 'm quite of your mind, sir,” answered Bob, taking
out his tobacco-box, and helping himself to a quid. “Nor
would I be at all surprised should there turn out to be a
bit of land to leeward, if you and I was to Robinson Crusoe
it for the rest of our days. My good mother was always

most awarse to my following the seas on account of that
very danger; most especially from a fear of the savages
from the islands round about.”

“We will look for our boats,” Mark gravely replied, the
image of Bridget, just at that instant, appearing before his
mind with a painful distinctness.

Both now turned their eyes again to leeward, the first
direct rays of the sun beginning to illumine the surface of
the ocean in that quarter. Something like a misty cloud
had been settled on the water, rather less than a league
from the ship, in the western board, and had hitherto prevented
a close examination in that part of the horizon.
The power of the sun, however, almost instantly dispersed
it, and then, for the first time, Bob fancied he did discover
something like land. Mark, however, could not make it
out, until he had gone up into the cross-trees, when he,
too, got a glimpse of what, under all the circumstances,
he did not doubt was either a portion of the reef that rose
above the water, or was what might be termed a low,
straggling island. Its distance from the ship, they estimated
at rather more than two leagues.

Both Mark and Bob remained aloft near an hour longer,
or until they had got the best possible view of which their
position would allow, of everything around the ship. Bob
went down, and took a glass up to his officer, Mark sweeping
the whole horizon with it, in the anxious wish to make
out something cheering in connection with the boats. The
drift of these unfortunate craft must have been towards the
land, and that he examined with the utmost care. Aided
by the glass, and his elevation, he got a tolerable view of
the spot, which certainly promised as little in the way of
supplies as any other bit of naked reef he had ever seen.
The distance, however, was so great as to prevent his obtaining
any certain information on that point. One thing,
however, he did ascertain, as he feared, with considerable
accuracy. After passing the glass along the whole of that
naked rock, he could see nothing on it in motion. Of
birds there were a good many, more indeed than from the
extent of the visible reef he might have expected; but no
signs of man could be discovered. As the ocean, in all
directions, was swept by the glass, and this single fragment

of a reef, which was less than a mile in length, was the
only thing that even resembled land, the melancholy conviction
began to force itself on Mark and Bob, that all
their shipmates had perished! They might have perished
in one of several ways; as the naked reef did not lie precisely
to leeward of the ship, the boats may have driven
by it, in the deep darkness of the past night, and gone far
away out of sight of the spot where they had left the vessel,
long ere the return of day. There was just the possibility
that the spars of the ship might be seen by the wanderers,
if they were still living, and the faint hope of their regaining
the vessel, in the course of the day, by means of their
oars. It was, however, more probable that the boats had
capsized in some of the numerous fragments of breakers,
that were visible even in the present calm condition of the
ocean, and that all in them had been drowned. The best
swimmer must have hopelessly perished, in such a situation,
and in such a night, unless carried by a providential
interference to the naked rock to leeward. That no one
was living on that reef, the glass pretty plainly proved.

Mark and Bob Betts descended to the deck, after passing
a long time aloft making their observations. Both
were pretty well assured that their situation was almost
desperate, though each was too resolute, and too thoroughly
inbued with the spirit of a seaman, to give up while there
was the smallest shadow of hope. As it was now getting
past the usual breakfast hour, some cold meat was got out,
and, for the first time since Mark had been transferred to
the cabin, they sat down on the windlass and ate the meal
together. A little, however, satisfied men in their situation;
Bob Betts fairly owning that he had no appetite,
though so notorious at the ship's beef and a biscuit, as to
be often the subject of his messmates' jokes. That morning
even he could eat but little, though both felt it to be a
duty they owed to themselves to take enough to sustain
nature. It was while these two forlorn and desolate mariners
sat there on the windlass, picking, as it might be,
morsel by morsel, that they first entered into a full and
frank communication with each other, touching the realities
of their present situation. After a good deal had
passed between them, Mark suddenly asked—

“Do you think it possible, Bob, for us two to take care
of the ship, should we even manage to get her into deep
water again?”

“Well, that is not so soon answered, Mr. Woolston,”
returned Bob. “We 're both on us stout, and healthy, and
of good courage, Mr. Mark; but 't would be a desperate
long way for two hands to carry a wessel of four hundred
tons, to take the old 'Cocus from this here anchorage, all
the way to the coast of America; and short of the coast
there 's no ra'al hope for us. However, sir, that is a subject
that need give us no consarn.”

“I do not see that, Bob; we shall have to do it, unless
we fall in with something at sea, could we only once get
the vessel out from among these reefs.”

“Ay, ay, sir—could we get her out from among these
reefs, indeed! There 's the rub, Mr. Woolston; but I
fear 't will never be `rub and go.”'

“You think, then, we are too fairly in for it, ever to get
the ship clear?”

“Such is just my notion, Mr. Woolston, on that subject,
and I 've no wish to keep it a secret. In my judgment,
was poor Captain Crutchely alive and back at his post, and
all hands just as they was this time twenty-four hours since,
and the ship where she is now, that here she would have
to stay. Nothing short of kedging can ever take the wessel
clear of the reefs to windward on us, and man-of-war
kedging could hardly do it, then.”

“I am sorry to hear you say this,” answered Mark,
gloomily, “though I feared as much myself.”

“Men is men, sir, and you can get no more out on 'em
than is in 'em. I looked well at these reefs, sir, when
aloft, and they 're what I call as hopeless affairs as ever I
laid eyes on. If they lay in any sort of way, a body might
have some little chance of getting through 'em, but they
don't lay, no how. 'T would be `luff' and `keep her
away' every half minute or so, should we attempt to beat
up among 'em; and who is there aboard here to brace up,
and haul aft, and ease off, and to swing yards sich as
our'n?”

“I was not altogether without the hope, Bob, of getting
the ship into clear water; though I have thought it would

be done with difficulty. I am still of opinion we had better
try it, for the alternative is a very serious matter.”

“I don't exactly understand what you mean by attorneytives,
Mr. Mark; though it 's little harm, or little good
that any attorney can do the old 'Cocus, now! But, as
for getting this craft through them reefs, to windward, and
into clear water, it surpasses the power of man. Did you
just notice the tide-ripples, Mr. Mark, when you was up
in the cross-trees?”

“I saw them, Bob, and am fully aware of the difficulty
of running as large a vessel as this among them, even with
a full crew. But what will become of us, unless we get
the ship into open water?”

“Sure enough, sir. I see no other hope for us, Mr.
Mark, but to Robinson Crusoe it awhile, until our times
come; or, till the Lord, in his marcy, shall see fit to have
us picked up.”

“Robinson Crusoe it!” repeated Mark, smiling at the
quaintness of Bob's expression, which the well-meaning
fellow uttered in all simplicity, and in perfect good faith—
“where are we to find even an uninhabited island, on
which to dwell after the mode of Robinson Crusoe?”

“There 's a bit of a reef to leeward, where I dare say a
man might pick up a living, arter a fashion,” answered
Bob, coolly; “then, here is the ship.”

“And how long would a hempen cable hold the ship in
a place like this, where every time the vessel lifts to a sea,
the clench is chafing on a rock? No, no, Bob—the ship
cannot long remain where she is, depend on that. We
must try and pass down to leeward, if we cannot beat the
ship through the dangers to windward.”

“Harkee, Mr. Mark; I thought this matter over in my
mind, while we was aloft, and this is my idee as to what
is best to be done, for a start. There 's the dingui on the
poop, in as good order as ever a boat was. She will easily
carry two on us, and, on a pinch, she might carry half a
dozen. Now, my notion is to get the dingui into the
water, to put a breaker and some grub in her, and to pull
down to that bit of a reef, and have a survey of it. I 'll
take the sculls going down, and you can keep heaving the
lead, by way of finding out if there be sich a thing as a

channel in that direction. If the ship is ever to be moved
by us two, it must be by going to leeward, and not by attempting
to turn up ag'in wind and tide among them 'ere
rocks, out here to the eastward. No, sir; let us take the
dingui, and surwey the reef, and look for our shipmates;
a'ter which we can best tell what to undertake, with some
little hope of succeeding. The weather seems settled, and
the sooner we are off the better.”

This proposal struck Mark's young mind as plausible,
as well as discreet. To recover even a single man would
be a great advantage, and he had lingering hopes that some
of the people might yet be found on the reef. Then Bob's
idea about getting the ship through the shoal water, by
passing to leeward, in preference to making the attempt
against the wind, was a sound one; and, on a little reflection,
he was well enough disposed to acquiesce in it. Accordingly,
when they quitted the windlass, they both set
about putting this project in execution.

The dingui was no great matter of a boat, and they had
not much difficulty in getting it into the water. First by
slinging, it was swayed high enough to clear the rail, when
Bob bore it over the side, and Mark lowered away. It
was found to be tight, Captain Crutchely having kept it
half full of water ever since they got into the Pacific, and
in other respects it was in good order. It was even provided
with a little sail, which did very well before the
wind. While Bob saw to provisioning the boat, and filling
its breakers with fresh water, Mark attended to another
piece of duty that he conceived to be of the last importance.
The Rancocus carried several guns, an armament
prepared to repel the savages of the sandal-wood islands,
and these guns were all mounted and in their places.
There were two old-fashioned sixes, and eight twelve-pound
carronades. The first made smart reports when properly
loaded. Our young mate now got the keys of the magazine,
opened it, and brought forth three cartridges, with
which he loaded three of the guns. These guns he fired,
with short intervals between them, in hopes that the reports
would be carried to the ears of some of the missing people,
and encourage them to make every effort to return. The
roar of artillery sounded strangely enough in the midst of

that vast solitude; and Bob Betts, who had often been in
action, declared that he was much affected by it. As no
immediate result was expected from the firing of these
guns, Mark had no sooner discharged them, than he joined
Betts, who by this time had everything ready, and prepared
to quit the ship. Before he did this, however, he made an
anxious and careful survey of the weather, it being all-important
to be certain no change in this respect was likely
to occur in his absence. All the omens were favourable,
and Bob reporting for the third time that everything was
ready, the young man went over the side, and descended,
with a reluctance he could not conceal, into the boat.
Certainly, it was no trifling matter for men in the situation
of our two mariners, to leave their vessel all alone, to be
absent for a large portion of the day. It was to be done,
however; though it was done reluctantly, and not without
many misgivings, in spite of the favourable signs in the
atmosphere.

When Mark had taken his seat in the dingui, Bob let go
his hold of the ship, and set the sail. The breeze was
light, and fair to go, though it was by no means so certain
how it would serve them on the return. Previously to
quitting the ship, Mark had taken a good look at the
breakers to leeward, in order to have some general notion
of the course best to steer, and he commenced his little
voyage, but entirely without a plan for his own government.
The breakers were quite as numerous to leeward
as to windward, but the fact of there being so many of
them made smooth water between them. A boat, or a ship,
that was once fairly a league or so within the broken lines
of rocks, was like a vessel embayed, the rollers of the open
ocean expending their force on the outer reefs, and coming
in much reduced in size and power. Still the uneasy
ocean, even in its state of rest, is formidable at the points
where its waters meet with rocks, or sands, and the breakers
that did exist, even as much embayed as was the dingui,
were serious matters for so small a boat to encounter. It
was necessary, consequently, to steer clear of them, lest
they should capsize, or fill, this, the only craft of the sort
that now belonged to the vessel, the loss of which would
be a most serious matter indeed.

The dingui slided away from the ship with a very easy
movement. There was just about as much wind as so
small a craft needed, and Bob soon began to sound, Mark
preferring to steer. It was, however, by no means easy to
sound in so low a boat, while in such swift motion; and
Bob was compelled to give it up. As they should be
obliged to return with the oars, Mark observed that then
he would feel his way back to the ship. Nevertheless, the
few casts of the lead that did succeed, satisfied our mariners
that there was much more than water enough for the
Rancocus, between the reefs. On them, doubtless it would
turn out to be different.

Mark met with more difficulty than he had anticipated
in keeping the dingui out of the breakers. So very smooth
was the sort of bay he was in—a bay by means of the reefs
to windward, though no rock in that direction rose above
the surface of the sea—so very smooth, then, was the sort
of bay he was in, that the water did not break, in many
places, except at long intervals; and then only when a
roller heavier than common found its way in from the
outer ocean. As a consequence, the breakers that did
suddenly show themselves from a cause like this, were the
heaviest of all, and the little dingui would have fared badly
had it been caught on a reef, at the precise moment when
such a sea tumbled over in foam. This accident was very
near occurring once or twice, but it was escaped, more by
providential interference than by any care or skill in the
adventurers.

It is very easy to imagine the intense interest with which
our two mariners drew near to the visible reef. Their
observations from the cross-trees of the ship, had told them
this was all the land anywhere very near them, and if they
did not find their lost shipmates here, they ought not to
expect to find them at all. Then this reef, or island, was
of vast importance in other points of view. It might become
their future home; perhaps for years, possibly for
life. The appearances of the sunken reefs, over and among
which he had just passed, had greatly shaken Mark's hope
of ever getting the ship from among them, and he even
doubted the possibility of bringing her down, before the
wind, to the place where he was then going. All these

considerations, which began to press more and more painfully
on his mind, each foot as he advanced, served to increase
the intensity of the interest with which he noted
every appearance on, or about, the reef, or island, that he
was now approaching. Bob had less feeling on the subject.
He had less imagination, and foresaw consequences
and effects less vividly than his officer, and was more accustomed
to the vicissitudes of a seaman's life. Then he
had left no virgin bride at home, to look for his return;
and had moreover made up his mind that it was the will
of Providence that he and Mark were to `Robinson Crusoe
it' awhile on `that bit of a reef.' Whether they should
ever be rescued from so desolate a place, was a point on
which he had not yet begun to ponder.

The appearances were anything but encouraging, as the
dingui drew nearer and nearer to the naked part of the reef.
The opinions formed of this place, by the examination made
from the cross-trees, turned out to be tolerably accurate,
in several particulars. It was just about a mile in length,
while its breadth varied from half a mile to less than an
eighth of a mile. On its shores, the rock along most of
the reef rose but a very few feet above the surface of the
water, though at its eastern, or the weather extremity, it
might have been of more than twice the usual height; its
length lay nearly east and west. In the centre of this
island, however, there was a singular formation of the rock,
which appeared to rise to an elevation of something like
sixty or eighty feet, making a sort of a regular circular
mound of that height, which occupied no small part of the
widest portion of the island. Nothing like tree, shrub, or
grass, was visible, as the boat drew near enough to render
such things apparent. Of aquatic birds there were a good
many; though even they did not appear in the numbers
that are sometimes seen in the vicinity of uninhabited
islands. About certain large naked rocks, at no great distance
however from the principal reef, they were hovering
in thousands.

At length the little dingui glided in quite near to the
island. Mark was at first surprised to find so little surf
beating against even its weather side, but this was accounted
for by the great number of the reefs that lay for

miles without it; and, particularly, by the fact that one
line of rock stretched directly across this weather end,
distant from it only two cables' lengths, forming a pretty
little sheet of perfectly smooth water between it and the
island. Of course, to do this, the line of reef just mentioned
must come very near the surface; as in fact was the
case, the rock rising so high as to be two or three feet out
of water on the ebb, though usually submerged on the flood.
The boat was obliged to pass round one end of this last-named
reef, where there was deep water, and then to haul
its wind a little in order to reach the shore.

It would be difficult to describe the sensations with
which Mark first landed. In approaching the place, both
he and Bob had strained their eyes in the hope of seeing
some proof that their shipmates had been there; but no
discovery rewarded their search. Nothing was seen, on
or about the island, to furnish the smallest evidence that
either of the boats had touched it. Mark found that he
was treading on naked rock when he had landed, though
the surface was tolerably smooth. The rock itself was of
a sort to which he was unaccustomed: and he began to suspect,
what in truth turned out on further investigation to
be the fact, that instead of being on a reef of coral, he was
on one of purely volcanic origin. The utter nakedness of
the rock both surprised and grieved him. On the reefs, in
every direction, considerable quantities of sea-weed had
lodged, temporarily at least; but none of it appeared to
have found its way to this particular place. Nakedness
and dreariness were the two words which best described
the island; the only interruption to its solitude and desolation
being occasioned by the birds, which now came
screaming and flying above the heads of the intruders,
showing both by their boldness and their cries, that they
were totally unacquainted with men.

The mound, in the centre of the reef, was an object too
conspicuous to escape attention, and our adventurers approached
it at once, with the expectation of getting a better
look-out from its summit, than that they had on the lower
level of the surface of the ordinary reef. Thither then
they proceeded, accompanied by a large flight of the birds
Neither Mark nor Bob, however, had neglected to turn

his eyes towards the now distant ship, which was apparently
riding at its anchor, in exactly the condition in
which it had been left, half an hour before. In that quarter
all seemed right, and Mark led the way to the mount,
with active and eager steps.

On reaching the foot of this singular elevation, our adventurers
found it would not be so easy a matter as they
had fancied, to ascend it. Unlike the rest of the reef
which they had yet seen, it appeared to be composed of a
crumbling rock, and this so smooth and perpendicular as to
render it extremely difficult to get up. A place was found
at length, however, and by lending each other a hand,
Mark and Bob finally got on the summit. Here a surprise
was ready for them, that drew an exclamation from each,
the instant the sight broke upon him. Instead of finding
an elevated bit of table-rock, as had been expected, a circular
cavity existed within, that Mark at once recognised
to be the extinct crater of a volcano! After the first astonishment
was over, Mark made a close examination of
the place.

The mound, or barrier of lava and scoriæ that composed
the outer wall of this crater, was almost mathematically
circular. Its inner precipice was in most places absolutely
perpendicular, though overhanging in a few; there being
but two or three spots where an active man could descend
in safety. The area within might contain a hundred acres,
while the wall preserved a very even height of about sixty
feet, falling a little below this at the leeward side, where
there existed one narrow hole, or passage, on a level with
the bottom of the crater; a sort of gateway, by which to
enter and quit the cavity. This passage had no doubt
been formed by the exit of lava, which centuries ago had
doubtless broken through at this point, and contributed to
form the visible reef beyond. The height of this hole was
some twenty feet, having an arch above it, and its width
may have been thirty. When Mark got to it, which he
did by descending the wall of the crater, not without risk
to his neck, he found the surface of the crater very even
and unbroken, with the exception of its having a slight
descent from its eastern to its western side; or from the
side opposite to the outlet, or gateway, to the gateway

itself. This inclination Mark fancied was owing to the
circumstance that the water of the ocean had formerly entered
at the hole, in uncommonly high tides and tempests,
and washed the ashes which had once formed the bottom
of the crater, towards the remote parts of the plain. These
ashes had been converted by time into a soft, or friable
rock, composing a stone that is called tufa. If there had
ever been a cone in the crater, as was probably the case,
it had totally disappeared under the action of time and the
wear of the seasons. Rock, however, the bed of the crater
could scarcely be yet considered, though it had a crust
which bore the weight of a man very readily, in nearly
every part of it. Once or twice Mark broke through, as
one would fall through rotten ice, when he found his shoes
covered with a light dust that much resembled ashes. In
other places he broke this crust on purpose, always finding
beneath it a considerable depth of ashes, mingled with
some shells, and a few small stones.

That the water sometimes flowed into this crater was
evident by a considerable deposit of salt, which marked
the limits of the latest of these floods. This salt had probably
prevented vegetation. The water, however, never
could have entered from the sea, had not the lava which
originally made the outlet left a sort of channel that was
lower than the surface of the outer rocks. It might be
nearer to the real character of the phenomenon were we
to say, that the lava which had broken through the barrier
at this point, and tumbled into the sea, had not quite filled
the channel which it rather found than formed, when it
ceased to flow. Cooling in that form, an irregular crevice
was left, through which the element no doubt still occasionally
entered, when the adjacent ocean got a sufficient
elevation. Mark observed that, from some cause or other,
the birds avoided the crater. It really seemed to him that
their instincts warned them of the dangers that had once
environed the place, and that, to use the language of sailors,
“they gave it a wide berth,” in consequence. Whatever
may have been the cause, such was the fact; few even
flying over it, though they were to be seen in hundreds, in
the air all round it.