Chapter XVI: “a Vast Green and Flowery Valley Surrounded by Romantic Hills.”

“You bettah now, sah?”

“O yes, Brandy; I’ll soon be all right. But where are we?”

“I don’t know nuffin’ ’t all. On’y dis is an island--I make shuah ob dat.”

“How long have I slept?”

“Two day, sah. I gib you plenty watah all de time; and you suckee he down all same’s modder’s milk, sah. You will lib now.”

“And thanks to you. But who helped you up with the boat?”

“He, he, he! You not believe, plaps. But Brandy neveh tell lie. I hab de paintah ob de boat all ready, and presently one big elerphant-to’toise come down. Plenty quick I hitch de bight ober dat varmint’s neck. Den I cried ‘shoo!’ Den he pull and I push, and ’way we go cheerily. But la! de elerphant-to’toise, he had strangle his little self. And I make soup of some of him, fo’ true!”

Hardly believing what Brandy said Tom got slowly up, and lo! there was the dead tortoise right enough; and Tom had never seen such a monster[1] before. Nor could he have seen one, for the creature belongs only to the Galapagos Islands.

“Why, Brandy,” he said, “it is bigger than a feather bed. I begin to believe, my boy, we have landed on one of the enchanted islands I used to read of long ago; and I can easily fancy a ship-wrecked mariner making a boat of the shell of one of these beasts, and with a bamboo for a mast and his jacket for a sail, crossing the ocean to the mainland. And you strangled him?”

“No, he strangle his little self, sah. I help jes’ a leetle wid de axe. Den he bleed--O, he bleed mo’ dan one big bull, sah.”

“And where is the blood, Brandy?”

“De fly eatee he all up plenty quick, and de ants eatee all de fly leave. Den I dink all de rest myself. But come, sah; de soup is all ready.”

On board the _’Liza Ann_ Ginger Brandy had gone about his duties in a very quiet way, indeed. He had shown himself smart enough, but had exhibited no extra talent of any kind. Now, lo and behold! all his nature was changed. He was in the wilds; he was part and parcel of the wilds, and his capabilities of making the best of everything appeared to know neither bounds nor limits. During the time Tom had been lying insensible, he had not only got the boat drawn up, but had built a hut inside a broken-down rocky cone, which looked like a small volcanic crater. It was cool and clean. The roof was formed of the sail, and inside was a soft bed of sea-weed. The provisions and ammunition were also carefully stored here; and as there appeared to be no destroying angels in the shape of ants about, everything was safe enough.

The soup was splendid. Tom felt a new man as soon as he had eaten a shellful. They had no basins, only shells. But several pannikins or billies were among the precious stores; so there seemed but little likelihood that they would have to live on raw meat for many a day.

After dinner Tom noticed that Ginger Brandy was carefully banking the fire with turf and ashes.

“Why not let it out, Brandy? You can light it again.”

“No, sah; nebber no mo’.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause, sah, I let fall de packet of lucifire match. One box catchee fi’. Den I jump on de packet to stamp he out, and all de rest go puff. You bery angry, sah?”

“No, my friend; it can’t be helped. Cheer up. I say, Brandy?”

“Yes, sah.”

“Isn’t it fun being a Crusoe? I used to be the Hermit Hunter of the Wilds; now I’ve turned a Crusoe, and you’re my man Friday.”

“Befo’ de Lawd, sah,” said Ginger Brandy looking tremendously serious all at once, “I tink de sun or de soup hab affect you’ head!”

Tom laughed.

“Don’t you know what a Crusoe is?”

“Sumfin’ to eat, plaps?”

“No, Brandy; it’s nothing to eat or drink either. Come, I’ll tell you the story.”

And as far as he could remember it, Tom told Ginger Brandy all the romance of Juan Fernandez, much to his delight.

“Dat is fus’rate, sah. Aha! you and I play at Crusoes. Aha! dere is nuffin’ like fun. Is dere, sah? But now look, marster. De sun go down, all red like one big slice ob pomola. You not well yet, sah. S’pose you go to bed?”

And Tom did, and found himself so strong next morning that he was able for a good long stroll.

Ginger Brandy came with him and helped to carry his gun.

What a mysterious looking place it was, and how black and dreary everything a little way inland looked! Those fearsome lizards basking on the dark burned rocks near the sea seemed the evil genii of the place. Tom could not look at them without shuddering.

But bigger and more powerful genii than they have been at work here and all about in ages long since passed away. The genii of volcanic fire and water. The soil was everywhere brown and scorched looking, extinct craters like shafts of founderies stood here and there, and ugly dark boulders lay scattered in the open as if they had been rained from heaven. Among these, snakes of many kinds wriggled hither and thither, or lay coiled up in huge old half-broken shells. The very bushes appeared black and blighted, and at a little distance seemed to have no leaves; while the birds that flew from bough to bough were dusky, and even the moths and beetles were sad in colour. And yet high above, the sky was blue, and the billows out yonder sparkled in his rays as if diamonds were being scattered on them by angels’ hands.

The shrubs and cacti that grew further from the sea had branches so wildly erratic, and shapes so weird, that do what he would Tom could not disabuse his mind of the notion that either he was really on an island of enchantment, or that he was dreaming, and might awake at any moment on board the _’Liza Ann_.

The gun so far was useless; there was nothing to shoot except those huge elephantic tortoises, and that would have been cruel. They were as deaf as posts, but wondrous quick in seeing. At a little distance many of them looked like flat or rounded rocks; and it was therefore rather startling to one’s nerves on getting alongside an immense slab of supposed rock to find it had a long neck and awful head, and that it hissed louder than a python, and began to move away.

Tom was not sorry when the walk was over, and he found himself once more reclining on his sea-weed couch reading Shakespeare, while Ginger Brandy busied himself not far off making tortoise stew, with a bit of bacon in it to give it a flavour. The delicious steam went all round Tom’s heart each time Brandy lifted the lid to peep inside.

Tom and Ginger Brandy spent many days at the seaside, dragging the boat down sometimes and going for a sail. In this way they cruised round a considerable portion of the coast. They found no signs of life anywhere, however, and though they landed at several places they found no tortoises.[2]

Inland they could see high hills, but all the coast-line was bordered with black rocks, boulders, and scoriæ. The ugly lizards were everywhere, and swam in the water as well as crawled on the beach.

As regards fish, Tom found the island coast a mine of luxury. Wherever the water was fairly shallow they found them in shoals, and could capture them with their hands--at least Ginger Brandy could; and his method of fishing was peculiar, to say the least of it. First he divested himself of his clothes, then overboard he sprang like a frog. Holding one hand under the water, he dropped a few crumbs of biscuit from the other. The fish, by no means shy, sailed up at once, and Brandy seized them one by one slowly but surely, and threw them into the boat.

Tom was a fairly clever naturalist, but he could not name a tenth of the many strange varieties of fish caught, nor even guess the natural orders to which they belonged. Most were edible.

Some were too gaudily coloured to be otherwise than suspicious. These Brandy discarded. Others were horribly grotesque, with immense heads, diabolical faces and horns. Brandy would have nothing to say to these either.

He held a frightfully ugly specimen up one day for Tom’s inspection.

“Is he for dinner, Ginger Brandy?”

“Gully, massy; no, sah. Plaps, sah, he one debil. He no aflaid ob de fire nor de f’ying pan. Suppose I put he ober de fire, sah, his ugly mouf grow bigger, his horns grow longer, his eyes grow fierce, den he switch his tail, jump out ob de fire and gobble up bof you and me, and fly away in de smoke.”

“Brandy,” said Tom one morning after breakfast, “I’m strong enough now to explore.”

“To ’splore, sah?”

“Yes, Brandy. To explore the island.”

“Well I’se strong ’nuff to ’splore mos’ anyting, sah.”

“All right, we’ll start. There is no fear of anyone breaking into the house while we’re away, so you needn’t lock the door, Brandy.”

It was a delightful day, with a strong breeze chafing the sea and roaring through the stunted shrubs and thorny cacti. The sky too was overcast with clouds; and it being the end of October some showers had fallen, so that the air was wondrously cool considering that they were right under the equator.

Tom felt as easy-minded and happy to-day as ever he did in his life.

There was something in the very air of this semi-enchanted isle of the ocean, that seemed to engender happiness, and hope as well. Tom had not begun to think yet if there was any chance of his ever getting away from the island.

“One of these days,” he said to Brandy, “you and I will sit down and do a jolly big think. But there is no occasion to hurry. Is there, Brandy?”

“O, I’se in no ’ticular hurry, sah! Not in de slightest. I lub dis little island. ’Spose we lib heah always, I not care.”

For miles and miles they scrambled onwards and upwards, wondering, like the little girl in the fairy tale, where they would come to at last. They took a straight course through the thorny jungle; but afterwards found that though this was the nearest route, it certainly was not the quickest. Poor Brandy’s feet were cut with cinders and rocks, and both had their faces and clothes torn with the cruel briers, that were as sharp and long as penknives.

They found themselves on a hilltop at last, and looking down, to their great astonishment, into a perfect paradise.

What was it like? It is not easy to describe. Imagine if you can a vast green and flowery valley, surrounded on all sides by romantic hills covered half-way to the top with waving woods, their summits round, fantastic, coned, or serrated; the valley itself containing every description of beautiful scenery that can be conceived. Yonder are green parks or fields, with cattle and donkeys quietly browsing in them, and shrubby knolls and patches of trees in their midst; yonder a beautiful lake or pond, with cattle wading therein or standing drowsily in its shallows; yonder a racing streamlet, like a thread of silver, winding through the plain till lost among the woods.

Down towards this paradise the Crusoes now hurry, new wonders greeting their sight at every turn. The forest itself is garlanded and festooned with flowers, trailing, climbing, and hanging, and shedding beauty everywhere. And when they leave the woods at last and come into the open, there are more marvels yet in store for them. A herd of wild pigs start squeaking and grunting away from a thicket of bananas, where they have been feeding on the fruit. There are groves of oranges, of citrons, and limes, and further on patches of wild potatoes, yams, and vegetables innumerable.

And to crown all the other wonders, lo! they come to a house or rather a hut, and at a little distance off there are others. But no smoke is now curling up from the compounds around. The fences are decayed and overrun with creepers; snakes glide here and there through what had once been a pretty garden, and the door of the principal hut has fallen from its hinges.

Nay, not fallen; it has been smashed in, and the two skeletons that lie bleaching not far off--one that of a child--tell the tale of a tragedy that was enacted in these wilds many years ago far more graphically than any words could have done.

“I not like de look ob tings at p’esent, sah,” said Brandy.

“Nor I either, my friend. But it is pretty evident that this island has at one time been a settlement, that there has been a foul deed done, and that the murderers have fled. Never mind, Brandy, we shall remove from the desolate triton-haunted sea-shore to this lovely valley, and build ourselves a hut. As for these poor remains we will bury them. The wretches who committed the crime doubtless landed from a ship, and the story of their terrible iniquity may never, never be known.”

The Crusoes returned to the hut by the sea that same evening, Brandy carrying on his shoulder a tiny young pig, part of which he meant to cook for supper.

They got up shortly after sunrise next day, and were off to the wild interior again as soon as breakfast had been discussed. Tom carried his rifle, Brandy carried a spade.

In a little orange grove they dug a shallow grave, and there laid the skeletons side by side and covered them up.

“We’ll come some other day, Brandy, and erect a cross here,” said Tom as they walked away.

He paused several times to look back at the spot he had chosen for a last resting-place for the remains. It was peculiar, and the more he thought of it the stranger it appeared. Three trees had been planted at right angles to the wood that rose over a hill on the east side of the valley. They were equidistant, and close to the centre one, almost overshadowed by it indeed, was the grove of orange-trees and bananas in which they had made the grave. No other trees were anywhere nearer than the wood itself.

They must have been planted there as a mark to something. But to what?