The Island Home

by Richard Archer

  CHAPTER EIGHT.

  TOKENS OF LAND.

  THE CENTRE OF THE SPHERE--THE MYSTERIOUS SOUND--THE CONFLAGRATION.

  "Thou glorious sea! before me gleaming, Oft wilt thou float in sunset pride, And often shall I hear in dreaming, Thy resonance at evening tide!"

  At sunset every trace of the storms by which we had been so recentlyencompassed had vanished: the sky, except along the western horizon, waswithout a cloud: not a breath of wind ruffled the sea, and we lay oncemore completely becalmed.

  This was our third night at sea; though to me, at least, it seemed thatmany days had passed since the mutiny and the immediately succeedingoccurrences. It is a night which I shall not soon forget; theimpression of its almost unearthly beauty is still fresh and vivid, andhaunts me like a vision of fairy land. At this moment if I but close myeyes, the whole scene rises before me with the distinctness of apicture; though one would naturally suppose that persons situated as wethen were, could scarcely have been in a state of mind congenial to thereception of such impressions.

  The transition from early twilight to the darkness of night wasbeautiful beyond description. The array of clouds in the west justafter sunset; their forms, arrangement, and colours; with the manner inwhich they blended and melted into one another, composed a spectacle, ofthe magnificence of which, neither language, nor the art of the painter,can convey any adequate idea. Along the edge of the horizon stretched abroad tract of the deepest crimson, reflecting far upon the waters, alight that gave them the appearance of an ocean of blood. Above thiswas a band of vivid flame colour: then one of a clear translucent green,perfectly peculiar, unlike that of any leaf or gem, and of surpassingdelicacy and beauty. This gradually melted, through many finegradations, into a sea of liquid amber, so soft and golden, that thefirst large stars of evening, floating in its transparent depths, couldscarcely be distinguished, as they twinkled mildly, amid the flood ofkindred radiance. A narrow streak of pearly blue bounded this amber seawith its islands of light, and divided it from the deeper blue of thewide vault above. During the earlier part of this glorious display, theeastern sky, as if in rivalry of the splendour of the opposite quarterof the heavens, was spanned by two concentric rainbows, describingcomplete semi-circles, with their bases resting upon the sea. In thesmaller and interior bow, all the colours were beautifully distinct; inthe outer and larger one, they were less brilliant, and arranged in anorder the reverse of that which is usual, the violet being the lowestinstead of the red. The rainbows vanished with the sun, and soonafterwards the fiery glow in the west began to fade. But the scene onlychanged its character, without losing any of its beauty. So smooth wasthe sea on that night that the whole dome of the sky, with every sailingcloudflake, and every star, was perfectly reflected in it. Until themoon rose, the line where the sky joined the ocean was indistinctlydefined, and the two were so blended together, that we actually seemedsuspended in the centre of a vast sphere; the heavens, instead ofterminating at the horizon, extended, spangled with stars, on everyside--below, as well as above, and around. The illusion was wonderfullyperfect; you almost held your breath as you glanced downward, and couldhardly refrain from starting nervously, so strong and bewildering wasthe appearance of hanging poised in empty space.

  Johnny, who had been sitting for a long time with his hands supportinghis head, and his elbows resting upon Arthur's knee, gazing out upon theocean, suddenly looked up into his face, and said--

  "Arthur, I want you to tell me truly--do you still believe that we shallbe saved--do you hope so now, as you did yesterday, or do you think thatwe must perish!"

  "Do you suppose that I would try to deceive you, Johnny," said Arthur,"that you ask me so earnestly to tell you truly?"

  "No, but I feared you would not, perhaps, tell me the worst, thinkingthat I could not bear it: and I suspected to-night, that you spoke morecheerfully than you felt on my account. But I am not afraid, dearArthur, to know the truth; and do not hide it from me! I will try tobear patiently, with you, and with the rest whatever comes upon us."

  "I would not deceive you about such a matter, Johnny. I should notthink it right, though you are so young. But I can know nothingcertainly. We are in the hands of God. I have told you all the reasonswe have to hope; we have the same reasons still. Only a few hours ago,the sea supplied us with food, and the clouds with drink: why may we nothope for future supplies according to our need? I think we yet havemore reason to hope than to despair."

  "Did you ever know, or hear of such a thing," inquired Johnny, after apause, "as a company of boys, like us, starving at sea?"

  "I do not remember that I have, under circumstances at all similar toours," answered Arthur.

  "It is too dreadful to believe! Is not God, our Father in heaven? Hewill not surely let us perish so miserably."

  "_Yes_, Johnny," said Arthur gently, but earnestly, "God is our heavenlyFather; but we must not make our belief in his love and goodness, aground of confidence that any suffering, however terrible, shall notbefall us. The young suffer and die, as well as the old; the good, aswell as the bad. Not only the strong martyrs, who triumphed while theywere tortured, but feeble old men, and little children, have been tornin pieces by wild beasts, or burned alive, or cast down precipices. Andthese things, that seemed so very hard to us, God has permitted. Yet heis good, and loves and cares for us as a father. This we must believe,and hold fast to, in spite of every thing that in our ignorance may seemto contradict it. If we feel as we ought, and as by his grace we may,we shall be able to trust all to him, with sweet resignation."

  "But is it not very hard, dear Arthur, to be left to die so!--and Godcan save us so easily, if he will."

  Arthur was deeply affected: the tears filled his eyes as he took Johnnyupon his knee, and tried to explain to him how wrong and selfish itwould be, to make our belief in the goodness of God, depend upon ourrescue and preservation. It was a difficult task, perhaps an untimelyone, as Max hinted. But Johnny gradually sobbed away his excitement,and became soothed and calm.

  "Well," said he, after a while, drawing a long breath, and wiping awayhis tears, "I know one thing: whatever may happen, we will be kind andtrue to one another to the last, and never think of such inhuman thingsas I have read of shipwrecked people doing, when nearly dead withhunger, though we all starve together."

  "Come to me, Johnny," cried Browne, with a faltering voice, "I must kissyou for those words. Yes, we will perish, if we must, like brothers,not sullenly, as if none had ever suffered evil before us. Weak andgentle spirits have borne without repining, sufferings as great asthreaten us. Often has my mother told me the story of sweet MarjoryWilson, drowned in the Solway water, in the days of Claverhouse, becauseshe met with her friends and kindred to worship God after their manner--and never could I listen to it without tears. Ah, what a spirit wasthere! She was but eighteen, and she could have saved her life bysaying a few words. Life was as sweet to her as it is to us: she toohad a home and friends and kindred, whom it must have been hard for thepoor young thing to leave so suddenly and awfully. And yet she refusedto speak those words--she chose to die rather. They took her out uponthe sand where the tide was rising fast, and bound her to a stake. Soonthe water came up to her face. She saw it go over the head of a poorold woman, whom they had tied farther out than herself. She saw herdeath struggles; she heard her gasp for breath, as she choked andstrangled in the yellow waves. Ah! she must have had courage from theLord, or that sight would have made her young heart fail. Once more,and for the last time, the king's officer asked her to make the promisenever to attend a conventicle again. He urged it, for he pitied heryouth and innocence. Her friends and neighbours begged her to save herlife. `O speak, dear Marjory!' they cried, `and make the promise; itcan't be wrong. Do it for our sakes, dear Marjory, and they will letyou go!' But she would not save her life by doing what she had beentaught to think was wrong; and while the swirling waves of the Solwaywere rising fast around her, she prayed to
God, and kept singingfragments of psalms, till the water choked her voice--and so sheperished. But, O friends! to know that such things have been; thatspirits gentle and brave as this have lived, makes it easier to suffercourageously."

  "Horrible!" exclaimed Max, "I seem to see all that you have sographically told. But how stern and cruel the teachers who wouldsacrifice human life rather than abate their own sullen obstinacy, evenin trifles--who could encourage this innocent but misguided girl, in herrefusal to save her life by the harmless promise to attend a churchinstead of a conventicle."

  Just as Browne was commencing an eager and indignant reply to Max's rashreflections upon the strictness of covenanting teachings, we weresuddenly startled by a deep and solemn sound, which seemed to come froma distance. While we listened intently, it was several times repeatedat short intervals of about fifteen seconds, each time more distinctlythan before. It resembled somewhat, the deepest tones of a powerfulorgan, heard for an instant, and then abruptly stopped. Nothing was tobe seen in the direction from which it seemed to proceed, but the seaglittering in the moonlight. Is it to be wondered at, if we listenedwith feelings, tinged with superstitious awe, to that strange sound,heard under such circumstances, and at such an hour? Johnny nestledcloser to Arthur's side, and I thought that the faces of my companionsgrew visibly pale. Even Arthur looked perplexed and disturbed.

  "What _can_ that be?" said Morton, after a few minutes of almostbreathless silence, during which we had listened in vain for itsrepetition.

  "It is certainly very strange," said Arthur. "I never heard any thingat sea, at all like it, but once, and it is impossible that this can bewhat I then heard--but hark!" And again the same deep pealing sound wasrepeated several times, at shorter intervals, but more faintly thanbefore; after continuing for a few minutes it ceased again.

  "What was the sound which you speak of, as resembling this?" askedMorton, when all was silent once more.

  "It was the cry of a kind of penguin, found at the Falkland Islands;when heard on shore it is harsh and loud; but a short distance at sea,and in the night, it has a pealing, solemn sound, like that which wehave just heard."

  "It must come from land in the neighbourhood," said Morton, "we canprobably hear farther on such a night as this than we can distinguishland."

  "Yes, sounds on the water, in calm still nights, when there is no wind,can be heard at great distances," said Arthur; "it is said that the`All's well!' of the British sentinel at Gibraltar, is sometimes heardacross the strait, on the African shore, a distance of thirteen miles.I have seen, at the Society Islands, native drums made of large hollowlogs, which might perhaps, at a distance, sound like what we heard amoment ago. A Wesleyan missionary there, once told me of a great drumthat he saw at the Tonga Islands, called the `Tonga Toki,' which soundedlike an immense gong, and could be heard from seven to ten miles."

  "Why, I thought that _this_ sounded like a gong," said Johnny, "perhapswe are near some island now; but what could they be drumming for so latein the night?"

  "There would be nothing very unusual about that," said Arthur. "TheAreoi Societies, which are extended over most of the larger inhabitedislands in this part of the Pacific, sometimes hold their greatcelebrations, like the pow-wows, and war-dances, of our AmericanIndians, in the night-time. At the Feejee Islands they have a strangeceremony called `Tambo Nalanga,' which they celebrate at night, with thebeating of drums, the blowing of conches, and a number of savage andcruel rites. Something or other of the same kind is observed at most ofthe islands, though under different names, and with slight variations."

  While speculating in this way, and endeavouring to account for the noisewhich had startled us so much, we all at once became aware of anincreasing light in the south, the `Cross,' now half-way between thehorizon and the zenith, enabling us to fix the points of the compass.As we gazed in that direction, the sky became strongly illuminated by ared glare, and an immense column of flame and smoke was seen shooting upin the distance. Nothing but the expanse of the ocean, splendidlyilluminated, and glowing like a sea of fire, could be discerned by thislight. Whether it was caused by a burning ship, at such a distance thatnothing but the light of her conflagration was visible, or by a fire onsome distant island, we could not determine. It was in the same quarterfrom which the sound had seemed to come.

  Arthur was now of the opinion that we were in the neighbourhood of aninhabited island, or group, and that the light proceeded from theburning beche-de-mer house of some successful trader, who had set fireto it, (as is their custom at the end of a prosperous season), toprevent it from falling into the hands of others in the same business.

  We all grasped eagerly at this idea, for the probability that we werenot only in the neighbourhood of land, but of a place where we shouldmeet with Europeans, and have an opportunity of getting home, or perhapsto the places of our respective destination, was full of encouragement.In a very short time the conflagration was over, and a dark column ofsmoke, which marked the spot where it had raged, was lifted slowly intothe air. We heard no more of the mysterious sound. None of theexplanations suggested were so perfectly satisfactory, as to removeentirely the unpleasant impression which it had produced. Before lyingdown in our accustomed places, we made our usual arrangements as to thewatch, unnecessary as it seemed, during the calm.