Their Island Home

by Jules Verne

  "Although it may be true that you can see this peak from False Hope Point, and even from Prospect Hill," Ernest replied, "the first condition for seeing anything is that you should look for it. The probability is that we have never looked carefully enough."

  "The general conclusion," Mr. Wolston added, "is that the range, properly speaking, can only be seen from above the Green Valley."

  "That is the position, sir," said Ernest, "and it is those heights that hide Rock Castle from us now."

  "I am sorry," Jack went on, "for I am sure we could have made out all our people. If it had occurred to them to go to Prospect Hill, I wager that we should have been able to recognise them—with the telescope, of course. For they are over there, talking about us, counting the hours, and saying: 'They would have got to the foot of the mountain yesterday, and to-day they will be at the top.' And they are wondering how big New Switzerland is, and if it makes a good show in the Indian Ocean."

  "Well said, my boy!" laughed Mr. Wolston. "I fancy I hear them."

  "And I fancy I see them," Jack declared. "Never mind! I am still sorry that the rocks hide Jackal River from us, and our house at Rock Castle too."

  "No good being sorry," Ernest remarked, "when you've got to put up with it."

  "It is the fault of this peak," Jack complained. "Why isn't it higher? If it rose a few hundred feet higher into the air, our people would see us from over there. They would signal to us. They would hoist a flag on the pigeon house at Rock Castle. We would wag them good morning with ours—"

  "Jack's off again!" said Mr. Wolston.

  "And I am sure that Ernest would see Hannah!"

  "I see her all the time."

  "Of course; even without a glass," Jack answered quickly. "Ah! the eyes of the heart are long-sighted!"

  All that remained was for the explorers to make an accurate survey of the island, noting its general outline and its geologic formation.

  On the east, to the rear of Unicorn Bay, the coast showed like a rocky frame enclosing the whole of the desert region which had been previously explored, when the pinnace made her first voyage. Then the cliffs grew lower, and the coast line rose towards the mouth of the Montrose River, where it formed a sharp point to bend back towards the spot where the range rose in the south-east.

  Glimpses could be caught of the Montrose, winding like a gleaming thread. The lower reaches of the river ran through a wooded and verdant region; the upper reaches through a barren waste. It was fed by numerous streams from the high levels of the pine wood, and made numerous twists and turns. Beyond the dense forests between the groves and clumps of trees lay a succession of plains and grass lands right to the western extremity of the island, where rose a high hill, marking the other end of the range, twelve or fifteen miles away.

  In outline the island was almost exactly the shape of the leaf of a tree.

  In the west numerous water-courses gleamed in the sun's rays. To the north and east were only the Montrose and Eastern Rivers.

  To sum up, then, New Switzerland, at any rate the five-sixths of it which lay to the north of the range, was a land of wonderful fertility, quite capable of supporting several thousand inhabitants.

  As to its situation in the Indian Ocean, it was clear that it belonged to no group of islands. The telescope discovered no sign of land anywhere on the horizon. The nearest coast was seven hundred and fifty miles away, the coast of Australia, or New Holland, as it was called in those days.

  But although the island had no satellites lying round its coast, one rocky point rose up from the sea some ten miles to the west of Pearl Bay. Jack levelled his glass upon it.

  "The Burning Rock—which isn't burning!" he exclaimed. "And I guarantee that Fritz would not have required any telescope to recognise it!"

  Thus New Switzerland, as a whole, was well adapted for the establishment of an important colony. But what the north and east and west had to offer must not be looked for in the south.

  Bent round in the form of a bow, the two extremities of the range rested on the coast line, at almost equal distance from the base of the peak which rose in its centre. The portion enclosed within this arc was bounded by a long succession of cliffs, which appeared to be almost perpendicular.

  The contrast between the sixth portion of the island and the other five, so generously favoured by nature, was great. The utter desolation of a desert, all the horror of chaos, reigned there. The upper belt of the range extended right to the end of the island, and seemed to be impassable. It was possible, however, that it was connected with the coast line to the south by ravines, gorges, and gullies worn through the steep slopes. The actual shore, sand or rock, where it might be possible to land, was probably a mere narrow strip only uncovered at low tide.

  The three were all affected by the melancholy which seemed to be exhaled from this depressing country, and remained silent while their eyes travelled over it. It was Ernest who made the following characteristic remark:

  "If after the wreck of the Landlord we had been cast upon this coast, our tub boat would have been smashed and we should have had nothing but death to look for—death from starvation!"

  "You are quite right, my dear boy," Mr. Wolston answered; "on this shore you could hardly have hoped for a chance. Of course, if you had managed to land a few miles farther north you would have found fertile land and the game country. But I am afraid this awful region has no communication with the interior of the island, and I do not know if it would have been possible to get there through the southern side of the range."

  "It isn't very likely," Jack put in, "but as we went round the coast we should certainly have come upon the mouth of the Montrose and the fertile part of the island."

  "Yes," said Ernest, "provided our boat could have got up towards the east or the west. But the south coast would not have offered us a bay like Deliverance Bay, where we got ashore without any great trouble."

  It most certainly was a happy chance that had cast the shipwrecked survivors of the Landlord upon the northern shore of New Switzerland. But for that how could they possibly have escaped the most horrible of deaths, at the foot of this enormous pile of rocks?

  The three adventurers decided to remain on the summit of the peak until four o'clock. They took all the bearings necessary to complete the map of New Switzerland—except the southern portion, which must remain incomplete for the present, since they could not see it all. But the work would be completed when the Unicorn returned and Lieutenant Littlestone finished his survey of the island.

  Ernest tore a leaf out of his pocket book and wrote the following lines:

  "The 30th of September, 1917, at 4 p.m., from the summit of—"

  There he broke off.

  "What shall we call this peak?" he asked.

  "Call it the Peak of Sorrow," Jack answered, "because we can't see Rock Castle from it."

  "No, call it Jean Zermatt, boys, in honour of your father," Mr. Wolston suggested.

  The suggestion was agreed to with delight. Jack pulled a cup out of his game-bag. Mr. Wolston and Ernest followed suit. A few drops of brandy from the flasks were poured into the cups and drunk with three cheers.

  Then Ernest got on with his letter.

  " from the summit of Jean Zermatt Peak, we are sending to you, my dear parents, to you, Mrs. Wolston, and to you, my dear Hannah, this note entrusted to our faithful messenger who, more fortunate than we, will soon be back at Rock Castle.

  "Our New Switzerland, a solitary island in the Indian Ocean, is about a hundred and fifty or a hundred and seventy miles in circumference. Most of it is immensely fertile, but on the southern side of the range it is barren and appears to be uninhabitable.

  "In forty-eight hours, since the return journey will be easier, we may possibly be back with you, and before the end of another three weeks, God willing, we may hope to set eyes again upon our absent ones, for whose return we are so impatient.

  "All love to you, dear parents, to Mrs. Wolston, and my dear Hannah, from
Mr. Wolston, my brother Jack, and your affectionate son, Ernest."

  The pigeon was taken from its little cage. Ernest tied the note to its left foot and let it fly.

  The bird rose thirty or forty feet above the summit of the peak, as if to obtain the widest possible view. Then, guided by its marvellous sense of direction, the sixth sense which all animals seem to possess, it flew rapidly away towards the north and soon was out of sight.

  All that now remained to be done was to hoist at the top of Jean Zermatt Peak the flag, for which Mr. Wolston's long stick, driven into the ground between the topmost rocks, was to serve as a flagstaff.

  When this was accomplished they would only have to make their way down to the foot of the range, get to the cave, fortify themselves with a substantial meal, for which their guns would provide materials, and then enjoy the rest they had earned by such a tiring day.

  The start for home would be made at dawn next day. By following the route already discovered, it was not impossible that they might reach Rock Castle in less than forty-eight hours.

  So Mr. Wolston and Jack set to work to plant the stick deeply and firmly enough to withstand the winds, which would sure to be violent at so great an altitude.

  "The essential thing," Jack remarked, "is that this flag of ours should be flying when the Unicorn arrives, so that Lieutenant Littlestone may see it directly the corvette gets in sight of the island. That will stir the hearts of Fritz and Jenny and Frank and your children, Mr. Wolston, and our hearts, too, when we hear the twenty-one guns saluting the flag of New Switzerland!"

  It was quite easy to wedge the staff between the rocks and pack it in with little stones.

  Just as he was going to fasten the flag to the staff, Mr. Wolston, who was facing eastwards, looked in that direction. He did with such intensity that Jack asked:

  "What is the matter, Mr. Wolston?"

  "I again thought that I saw—" he answered. And again he raised the telescope to his eye.

  "Saw what?" Ernest pressed him.

  "Smoke rising from the shore," Mr. Wolston answered, "unless it is a cloud like I saw before, when the pinnace was off the mouth of the Montrose River."

  "Well," said Ernest, "is it passing away?"

  "No," said Mr. Wolston; "and it must be at the same spot—at the far end of the range. Can there have been any shipwrecked men, or any savages, camped on that part of the coast for the past few weeks?"

  Ernest looked carefully at the indicated spot, taking the glass in his turn, but he could see nothing in that direction.

  "Why, Mr. Wolston, that is not where we need look; it's over here, to the south—" And Jack stretched his hand towards the sea beyond the huge cliffs that towered over the shore.

  "It's a sail!" Ernest exclaimed.

  "Yes, a sail!" Jack repeated.

  "There is a ship in sight of the island," Ernest went on, "and she seems to be steering for it."

  Mr. Wolston took the telescope and distinctly saw a three-masted vessel moving under full sail six or seven miles out at sea.

  Jack shouted, gesticulating wildly.

  "It is the Unicorn! It can only be the Unicorn! She was not due until the middle of October, and here she is at the end of September, a fortnight before her time."

  "There is nothing impossible in that," Mr. Wolston replied. "But, nevertheless, before we can be positive we must make quite sure which direction she is going in."

  "She is making for New Switzerland," Jack declared. "To-morrow morning she will appear to the west of Deliverance Bay, and we shall be there to greet her! Let us be off, Mr. Wolston; let us travel all night!"

  Jack, who was just getting ready to slide down the side of the peak, was checked by a final word from Ernest.

  "No," he said, "look carefully, Mr. Wolston. The ship is not steering towards the island."

  "That is so," said Mr. Wolston, after watching the movement of the vessel for a few minutes.

  "Then she is not the Unicorn?" Jack exclaimed.

  "No," said Ernest positively.

  "Besides," Mr. Wolston added, "the Unicorn would come from the north-west, and this ship is going towards the south-east and away from the island."

  There could be no mistake on this score; the three-master was travelling east, without taking any notice of New Switzerland.

  "All right!" said Jack. "But the Unicorn will come soon, and at any rate we shall be there to pay the regulation salute to the corvette of His Majesty King George III!"

  The flag was hoisted on the summit of Jean Zermatt Peak and blew out into the breeze, while Jack did it the honours with two shots from his gun.

  CHAPTER XV - JACK AND THE ELEPHANTS

  IN the evening of that same day M. Zermatt and his wife, Mrs. Wolston and her daughter, were all sitting together in the library after a good day's work.

  Of what should they have talked if not of those who had now been away for three days? They felt confident of a happy issue to the expedition into the interior of the island. The weather had been very favourable for it.

  "Where ought Mr. Wolston and the boys to be at this moment?" Mme. Zermatt enquired.

  "I think they must have reached the summit of the range," M. Zermatt replied. "If nothing occurred to delay them, three days will have sufficed to bring them to its foot, and the fourth would be spent in making the ascent."

  "At the cost of much fatigue, and much danger, too, perhaps," said Hannah.

  "Not danger, my dear child," M. Zermatt replied. "As for the fatigue, your father is still in the prime of life, and my boys have endured plenty before now."

  "Ernest has not all his brothers' endurance," Hannah rejoined.

  "Not quite," Mme. Zermatt answered; "and he has always preferred study to physical exercise."

  "Come, Betsy," said M. Zermatt, "you must not make out that your son is a weakling! If he has worked with his brains, he has worked quite as hard with his body. My belief is that this expedition will have been no more than a walking tour. If I had not been afraid to leave you three alone at Rock Castle, my dear, I should, in spite of my forty-seven years, have gone on this voyage of discovery."

  "Let us wait till to-morrow," said Mrs. Wolston. "Perhaps the pigeon that Ernest took with him will come back in the morning and bring us a letter."

  "Why not this evening?" Hannah broke in. "The pigeon could find its loft quite well at night; couldn't it, M. Zermatt?"

  "Without a doubt, Hannah. The speed of those birds is so great—thirty miles an hour, some people say—that it could travel the distance from the mountains here in forty or fifty minutes!"

  "Suppose I watch until daylight to see if it comes back?" the girl suggested.

  "Ah!" exclaimed Mme. Zermatt. "The dear child is dreadfully anxious to have news of her father."

  "And of Jack and Ernest too, Mme. Zermatt," Hannah added, kissing her.

  "It is a pity that the range is not visible from the top of Rock Castle," Mrs. Wolston remarked. "Perhaps with a telescope we might have discovered whether the flag is flying at the summit of the peak."

  "It is a pity, Mrs. Wolston," M. Zermatt agreed.

  "That is why, if the pigeon does not return in the course of to-morrow morning, I intend to saddle Light-foot and go as far as the hermitage at Eberfurt, whence one can see the range."

  "An excellent idea," said Mme. Zermatt, "but don't let us begin to make plans prematurely, dear, and since it is now time, let us go to dinner. Why, perhaps the pigeon may come back this evening, before we go to bed, and bring us a little word from Ernest!"

  "Well," M. Zermatt answered, "it will not be the first time we shall have corresponded that way. Do you remember, Betsy, a long time ago, when the boys sent us news from Wood Grange and Prospect Hill and Sugar-cane Grove? It was bad news, it is true— of the harm those wretched monkeys and other destructive creatures had done; but it was by pigeon post that we got it. I hope the messenger will bring us better news this time."

  "Here it is!" exclaimed Hannah, springin
g up and rushing to the window.

  "Did you see it?" her mother asked.

  "No, but I heard it go into the pigeon-house," the girl answered.

  Her ear had caught the sound of the little trap-door shutting at the bottom of the pigeon-house above the library.

  M. Zermatt hurried out, followed by the three ladies. At the foot of the pigeon-house he placed a ladder against the wall of rock, ran up it quickly, and looked inside.

  "It has indeed come back!" he said.

  "Oh, catch it, catch it, M. Zermatt!" Hannah exclaimed, all impatience.

  When she had the pigeon in her hands she kissed its little bluish head, and she kissed it again after she had unfastened the note from its foot. Then the bird was released and went back into its loft, where a handful of grain was lying ready for it.