While these were thus engaged, the sealing party was even more successful in the opposite direction. They had not gone half-a-dozen miles when they sighted a group of seals, sleeping--or sunning themselves--on a flat rock, near high-water mark.

"Now, then, Hercules, lead the way with your club," said the doctor to Joe Slag, in a whisper. Joe at once shouldered his weapon and led the party round by some sheltering rocks, so as to get between the seals and the sea; then, rushing forward in a body, they took the creatures by surprise, and intercepted two of them. On coming to close quarters, however, they found that the seals were much more formidable to look at than anything that any of them had ever seen in the Arctic Seas; and when Joe brought his club down on the skull of the foremost with a terrible thwack, it refused to tumble over, but continued to splutter and flounder towards the sea. Dr Hayward, however, used his spear at this moment with such effect that the seal fell, and another blow from the Herculean club finished its career.

As this animal was about half-a-ton in weight, they left it on the beach with the intention of cutting off some steaks on their return, and sending the boat round afterwards to fetch the remainder of the carca.s.s.

Considerably elated by their success, they pushed on. In a valley which led towards the interior hills they found fresh tracks of goats, and saw one of those animals in the distance. Rabbits were also seen, but none killed at that time. They had not gone far into this valley, when a most interesting discovery was made. On opening up a new turn in the valley they came on the ruins of a hut.

With feelings of profound interest, they entered--for there was no door to bar their progress--and gazed around on the silent, mouldering walls.

"Good luck!" exclaimed O'Connor, springing forward, and grasping an object which lay on the ground. It was a hatchet, covered with red rust. "Here is something else that will be useful," said Tomlin, picking up a file, which was also covered with rust.

The party at once began an eager search in the hope of finding other things that might be of use to them, and they were not altogether disappointed; for Jarring found a clasp-knife--much rust-eaten, of course, but still fit for use. Slag found a much-battered frying-pan, and Tomlin discovered a large cast-iron pot behind the hut, with a chip out of its rim. A bottle was also found, and the party crowded round to watch while the doctor examined it.

"Gin, I hope," said Jarring, in a low tone.

"Physic, I think," murmured Slag.

"A paper!" exclaimed the doctor, holding it up to the light; then, breaking the bottle, he unfolded the paper, but much of the writing on it had been obliterated by water which had leaked in. The few sentences, however, that were more or less legible, conveyed the fact that a vessel had been wrecked on the island in 1848; that the crew had lived there eighteen months when a ship, chancing to pa.s.s that way, rescued them; that they had no provisions to leave for the use of unfortunates who might chance to be cast away there in future; and that there was a garden, with some vegetables in it, about--

Here the writing became quite illegible.

"Now, we must find that garden," said the doctor, "and as we've not much daylight left, we must begin at once. Come along, lads."

In half an hour they found the garden, with potatoes growing in it, and a few other roots that were new to them.

Rejoicing over their discoveries the party started back without delay for the camp, carrying the pot, the frying-pan, etcetera, along with them, and not forgetting a good slice of the seal in pa.s.sing. Arriving late that night, they found Bob Ma.s.sey and the women already enjoying a supper of albatross soup.

"Hooroo, Bob!" exclaimed O'Connor, flourishing the frying-pan in his excitement, "we've found some praties, boy! Shovel out some o' that into this, honey, an' I'll soon let ye smell the smell of an Irish stew!"

Next day the party removed from the camp and took up their abode in the old hut, which was soon repaired sufficiently to keep out wind and rain, and the skin of the seal--with that of another killed next day--was large enough to screen off part of the hut as a separate chamber for the women.

From that time forward they had no lack of food, for they succeeded in killing plenty of seals, and in snaring a great many rabbits, though they failed entirely to kill any of the goats. And thus they lived for several months in comparative comfort, though suffering considerably from cold and bad weather.

During all that time the poor women were kept pretty busy cooking, looking after domestic matters, and mending the garments of the men.

This last they accomplished by means of needles made from albatross bones and the finely divided sinews of various animals, instead of thread. When the European garments were worn out--which they were, long before deliverance was sent to them--Nell Ma.s.sey proved her fitness for a Robinson Crusoe life, by actually splitting the sealskins--which were as thick as sole leather--so as to obtain material thin enough for clothing.

Of course, a flagstaff had been among the first things erected. It stood on a prominent hill, and a seal-skin flag was hoisted thereon, to attract any vessel that might chance to pa.s.s that way, but the flag fluttered in vain, for, as we have said, the island lay far out of the usual track of commerce.

Although poor Mrs Mitford appeared to become resigned to her great loss as time pa.s.sed by, it was evident to her kind-hearted female companions that she was not recovering from the shock she had received. In spite of their care of her she grew thinner and older-looking every day, and although she quietly took her share of the work, she had become sad and silent--caring little apparently for what was going on around her, and never indulging in those prolonged observations of an irrelevant nature, to which she had been addicted before her husband's disappearance.

Things were in this state when, about two months after their landing, a boat-voyage to the western cliffs of the island was arranged for purposes of further exploration.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER 11.

Within the dark recesses of a great cavern in the western cliffs, in the midst of a ma.s.s of wreckage, there sat one morning a man whose general appearance might have suggested to a beholder "the wild man of the cave"--or, at the least, an unhappy maniac--for his grey locks were long and unkempt, his eyes bloodshot and wild, his garments torn, so that his wasted limbs were exposed in numerous places, and his beard and moustache dishevelled and bristling.

No one looking at that gaunt creature--not even the mother who bore him--would have easily recognised John Mitford; yet it was he.

On the day when he mysteriously disappeared he had come upon a great hollow, or hole, of about sixty yards in diameter, which appeared to descend into the very depths of the earth. The sides of the hollow sloped towards the centre, and were covered with bushes. Noting this, our romantic friend resolved to explore the spot. He descended cautiously till he came to a place where the hole had narrowed to about twenty feet in diameter, and the herbage ceased because of the absence of the earth to sustain it. Filled with eager curiosity, the reckless man held on to a branch and stretched his head over the edge of the hole. He saw nothing but blackness. He soon felt something, however, for the branch suddenly broke off, and John went headlong down into that hole!

Then and there he would certainly have paid for his curiosity with his life, had not a ma.s.s of earth, a few feet further down, and against which he struck, broken his fall in some measure, and shunted him off to the opposite wall of the rock. This latter proved to be a slope so steep that it let him slide, like lightning, to the bottom, a depth of about thirty feet or more, where he was stopped with such violence that he lay stunned for a considerable time.

Recovering, he found that no bones were broken, and that, indeed, he was not much damaged considering the violence of the fall; but the satisfaction and thankfulness that this undoubtedly caused him were diminished by the fact that he was in total darkness, and at the bottom of a hole of unknown depth. A feeling of horror rushed over him at the thought of being thus, as it were, buried alive. Springing up, he felt all round the walls of his prison for some inequalities or projections, by which he might climb out, but none such could he find. The place was like a well of not more than about ten feet wide, with smooth rocky sides, which were almost perpendicular as far up as he could reach. On looking upward, he could see the mouth of the hole, through which he had fallen, glimmering like a little star above him.

After a fruitless search of nearly half-an-hour the poor man sat down on a piece of fallen rock, over which he had stumbled several times in his search, and a deep groan burst from him as he began to realise the fact that escape from the place was impossible, and that a lingering death awaited him--for he could scarcely hope that his companions would find him in such a place. Hope, however, is hard to kill in the human breast. Perhaps they might hear him if he shouted. Immediately he began to shout for help with all the strength of his lungs. Then, as no answering shout came down from the little star above--at which he continuously gazed--a feeling of wild despair took possession of him, and he yelled and shrieked in mortal agony until his vocal chords refused to act, and nothing but a hoa.r.s.e whisper pa.s.sed his parched lips. Overcome at last, alike with horror and exhaustion, he fell to the ground and became partially unconscious.

How long he lay thus he could not tell; but, on recovering and looking up, he found that the star was gone--telling plainly that night had set in.

Then it was, when all hope of delivering himself, or of being delivered by others, had fled, that a word which had been uttered by Dr Hayward to a dying man on board the ship, leaped into John Mitford's mind like a gleam of light. "Call upon Me in the time of trouble and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me." He had seen this invitation accepted by the dying man and deliverance obtained--if a happy smile and a triumphant gaze across the river of death were to be regarded as testimony. "But, then," thought John Mitford, "that was spiritual deliverance. Here it is a hard physical fact, from which nothing short of a miracle can deliver me. No--it is impossible!"

Was it a voice within him, or an old memory, that immediately whispered the words, "With G.o.d all things are possible?" At all events, the poor man rose up slowly in a somewhat calmer frame of mind, and began once more to feel round the walls of his narrow prison. He found nothing mew, save that once he narrowly escaped falling down what seemed to be a still deeper hole among the fallen rocks already referred to. Then he lay down--or rather fell on the floor exhausted--and slept till morning.

The fact that another day had begun was only ascertainable by the shining of the star-like mouth of the hole. He attempted again to shout, but found that his voice had left him, and that even if his comrades should return to the place he could not make them hear! In the fit of despair which followed he went round and round his living tomb like some wild beast in a cage. During one of these perambulations, he stumbled again over the fallen rocks, dropped into the hole behind them, and slid a few feet downwards, but not rapidly, for the slope was gradual, and it terminated on a flat floor. Looking cautiously round, on reaching this lower depth, he saw what appeared to be a faint light far beneath him, and considerably in advance of the spot where he stood, or rather to which he clung.

Gradually his mind calmed, and, resolving to make for this light, he groped his way downward. It was a long and wearisome scramble, involving many a slip and slide, and not a few falls, (for it was made, of course, in total darkness), and the distant light did not appear to become stronger or nearer. At last it seemed as though it were growing.

Then John found himself on ground over which he could walk, guiding himself by touching perpendicular walls of rock on either side with his hands. It was a great split in the mountain, caused perhaps by those mighty subterranean forces, which some men recognise as volcanic action, whilst others, admitting--but pa.s.sing beyond--second causes, recognise them as tools with which G.o.d is moulding this world according to His will.

"Strange!" thought the man, as he moved slowly forward. "Was this split made hundreds--perhaps thousands--of years ago, for the purpose of enabling me to escape?"

"Certainly not--absurd, presumptuous idea," answered Unbelief, smartly.

"It was," remarked Faith, slowly, "made, no doubt, for hundreds--it may be millions--of other purposes, but among these purposes the saving of your life was certainly in the mind of Him who `knows all things from the beginning,' and with whom even the falling of a sparrow is a matter for consideration."

We do not a.s.sert that John Mitford's reasoning took the precise form of these words, for many minds can think somewhat profoundly without being able to express themselves clearly; but some such thoughts undoubtedly coursed through John's mind, as he moved through that subterranean labyrinth, and finally emerged--through a narrow crack, not so large as an ordinary door--upon the inner margin of a stupendous cavern.

With a fervent "Thank G.o.d!" and a hopeful leap of the heart, the poor man beheld the waters of the sea rushing up to his very feet; and beyond the cave's mouth lay the grand ocean itself, like a bright picture in a black frame. But what was that projecting from the water, not twenty yards from where he stood? The broken mast of a sunken wreck!

Mitford's heart almost stood still, for he became aware that he had made his way to the very cavern, in which the ill-fated _Lapwing_ had met her doom, and around him were ma.s.ses of wreckage that had been washed up and thrown on the rocks at the inner end of the cave where he stood.

An involuntary shudder pa.s.sed through the man's frame as he glanced round expecting to see the dead bodies of his late shipmates. But nothing of the kind was visible, and the spars, masts, and other wreckage which had reached the rocks had been shattered into "matchwood"

by frequent gales.

John Mitford now hastened in eager hope along the sides of the cave towards its mouth, intending to go out to the base of the cliffs, forgetting, in his eagerness, that the mouth could not be reached without a boat. He soon discovered this, and was then thrown into another fit of despair by remembering that he could not swim.

Oh! how bitterly he blamed himself for having neglected to acquire such a simple accomplishment. He might have learnt it when young, had he not been indifferent, or lazy about it. Often had he been advised to learn it by companions, but had treated the matter lightly and let the chance go by--and now, only fifty yards or so of deep water intervened between the end of the ledges of rock and the outside of the cavern, where he might perhaps find foothold enough to scramble along the base of the cliffs--but those fifty yards were equal to the Atlantic to him, he could not swim that distance to save his life. Once or twice, in a fit of desperation, he had almost plunged in to attempt it, and take his chance. Fortunately his courage failed. Had he taken the plunge his fate would no doubt have been sealed.

Returning to the inner end of the cave he searched among the wreckage for wood, with which to make a raft, but it was so shattered that he found no pieces large enough to be thus used. He found, however, a barrel of pork and another of pease jammed into a crevice. These proved an immense relief to his feelings, for they secured him against absolute starvation, which he had begun to think stared him in the face.

From that time forward the unfortunate man made incessant and wild efforts to get out of the cave. He climbed and scrambled about until his clothes were almost torn off his back. He gathered the largest ma.s.ses of wood he could find and tied them together in bundles, until he had made something like a raft; but John was not a handy workman; his raft overturned the first time he tried it, and went to pieces, and he would have been drowned at that time if he had not been within grasping distance of the rocks. As it was, he got a fright which made him finally turn from that method of escape in despair.

Then the raw pork and hard pease tried him severely, and brought on a complaint which lasted a considerable time and greatly reduced his strength, but John was tough, and recovered--though not much more than the skeleton of his former self remained.

Thus he continued to exist in that cavern, during all the time that his wife and friends were mourning him as dead; and in this condition was he there seated, on the morning in which this chapter opens.

"Weary, weary--desolation!" moaned the unfortunate man, lifting his head and gazing round, with the air of one from whom all hope has long since departed.

It is said, or supposed, that when a spoke in Fortune's wheel is at the lowest, there must needs be a rise. Mitford's experience at this time would seem to give ground for belief in the saying; for the word "desolation" had scarcely pa.s.sed his lips, when distant voices of men were heard, causing his heart to bound violently. Next moment a boat glided in front of the cave's mouth.