Читать книгу Titanic and Other Ships - Charles Herbert Lightoller - Страница 20

As we were lords of all we surveyed, and at perfect liberty to go where we wished--without the slightest fear of trespassing--three of us set a course, as it turned out, right straight across the island. Frequently we had to work our way round huge gaps in the ground, from which came sulpherous fumes, in a kind of steamy smoke. Admitted there are a few goats on the island, but they are like the proverbial Chinaman who can live on the smell of an oil rag. Whatever they do live on, certainly does not detract from their activity. "Now you see me, now you don't"; a glimpse on the skyline, and gone again. Certainly before one could have got within rifle range--if we had possessed such a thing. No doubt these goats, also the rabbits, of which there are a fair quantity, have been put on the island by ships, in times past. The rabbits and goats, unfortunately, find their living on top of the island; whilst any unfortunate human beings must always keep to the sea level, in order to get water.

We continued on our way, and the going was somewhat like walking up a fairly steep hill. Up this slope we trudged. No signs of either water or life. No trees; not even a bush. I suppose we had been working our way along for the best part of a couple of hours, up and still up, looking more at our feet than to our front. Suddenly I stopped, for we seem to have come to the edge of the world. There, lying like a panorama, over two thousand feet below us, was a wonderful lagoon, absolutely circular, with cliffs all around,, except just where the sea had broken in on the far side. There, the cliffs ran down to two shingle spits with a 16 foot channel between them, giving entrance to the lagoon. One chap with us who had eyes like the proverbial hawk, said he could see huts. I had good eyesight too, but perched up there I could see nothing resembling house or hut. As a matter of fact, as it turned out, there were five huts, and when we did get down we found the one he could only just see, was actually large enough to hold the whole forty-two of us, at one end!

As there was nothing to be gained by staying perched up there, we started to look for a break in the face of the cliff, which was pretty nearly perpendicular, but overgrown with long rank grass, any three or four blades of which it was almost impossible to break. We soon found a place where we could negotiate the overhanging lip, and with a very creditable imitation of monkeys, we commenced to swing, toboggan and bump our way down.

We found that the whole of the cliff was honeycombed with caves, and we frequently discovered ourselves dangling bodily over one of these openings.

I am convinced, and I always have been, that if a thorough search should be made of these caves, hoards of pirates' treasure would most certainly be unearthed, but the first step towards anything like that would have to be the burning of all this rank grass.

Everywhere there are indications showing that the island has been used for many purposes. Traces of old whalers, and sealers, and evidences of occupations long before that. There were boats of a build unknown to the oldest sailor amongst us, the planking and timbers, although inches thick, crumbled away in one's hand. Old time anchors, with their wooden stocks rotted out, in fact there was actually a built slip, where a small vessel could be hauled up, scraped and painted. The huts must have been in existence for over a hundred years, and there were many other indications that immediately jump to a sailor's eye as evidence that it had been used as a base for some seafaring enterprise.

What more ideal place to catch an unwary East Indiaman, after running his Easting down and ready to turn north? Very likely he would be trying to sight the island to correct his position. In bad weather a schooner could lie in the lagoon, happily, and in perfect safety. No matter what sea running outside, the lagoon is always like a millpond. A lookout on the top of the island would soon spot one of the lumbering old timers in the distance. Then the schooner could be warped and towed out, just hiding in the entrance, till the time was judged ripe to make the attack, and that, we can imagine, would be both sharp and short. Then back with their booty to the lair, leaving no track or trace. even wreckage would not stand one chance in a thousand of ever being sighted in those latitudes. The caves lent themselves as perfect hiding places for the plunder and, in my firm opinion, there it remains to this day, for it is notorious that pirates never lived to enjoy their ill-gotten gains.

There is treasure hidden all over the world, but in my humble opinion, St. Paul's holds the long sought secret of many a pirate's hoard.

It has always been,--and still is, --my ambition to search these caves, and sometime, with a bit of luck, I will.

There are all sorts of good reasons why St. Paul's has never yet been searched. One very good reason is that there are a few thousand bleak miles of sea to negotiate; eternal gales to contend with, a crew to pay, and provisions to find. Furthermore, you must take water with you, or content yourself with condensed water. Another item on the catalogue of wants would be the wherewithal to burn off the grass that at present very successfully and completely hides the openings to every one of the caves.

Why didn't we search whilst we were there: For the simple reason that we were far too busy keeping body and soul from parting company. In later years I did get one expedition together, and it was only by the slimmest chance that it fell through. We had the ship, and we had the very necessary capital (which is of some importance). Like many other dreams, it didn't materialise, but I still in my dreams see that smart little schooner anchored in that lagoon, loading up with gold, jewels, and all imaginable treasures, that forever live in the mind of the treasure hunter.

Having got down to the edge of the water, we started in to work our way round towards the huts, which by now, we could see quite clearly. Here and there we came across boiling springs, amongst the rocks, which showed that something down under was still alive and warm.

Bill, my cousin, tried the water in the springs, and said it was fresh. I just took his word for it, as I was a bit too excited to be particularly thirsty--though that added joy was to come, and pretty soon.

Arrived at the huts, the first cry from the fellows already there was, "Have you found water?" I said, "Yes," and was asked to show them were it was. So off back I went, but I suppose half an hour had elapsed between times. Anyhow, we journeyed off for the springs, climbing over the rocks from pool to pool; but they were all salt; salt as Lot's wife.

What had happened, I found out later, was, that between the time of our coming round the lagoon, and taking these other chaps back again, the tide had risen and flowed into the pools.

Others said they had found water on top of the island--a small well.

By next day most of us had become pretty desperate, and it behoved us to call up a volunteer party, to shin up those two thousand odd feet with oilskins, sea boots, and any other receptacles that would hold water. Fortunately the north point had a gradual ascent, and afforded some decent foothold.

The water party was led by an able seaman, named Bartle Macintyre, one of the finest sailors I have ever met, and one that nothing ever daunted. Actually, he made the party climb that cliff, with only six short intervals of rest. Arriving at the top, I, for one, was just about all-in. But after one last spell, we started the tramp to find this well. The going now was not too bad, and we made good time, though, as far as I was concerned, things were getting hazier and hazier, and I was rapidly losing interest. I could see the fellows walking ahead, but they seemed a mighty way off. I was long past speaking; in fact my tongue was just completely dried up, and my lips were split in two or three pieces. I remembered quite well one of the chaps coming back and relieving me of the pair of oilskin pants, which I was carrying, tied at the bottom to fill up with water.

I pointed to a slight depression I had noticed, and two or three of us went down to see if by chance, there was any water, and found the ground fairly moist. They called the others back. We tore up the damp ground, squeezing the mud into the palms of our hands and drinking it. Although it was just mud, and barely wet enough to moisten our lips, it was as nectar to our parched throats. Very soon we all took the trail again. I knew, quite well, why they had taken these oilskins from me, and I realised that once I stumbled and fell down (which seemed quite likely) I should not get up again. I was conscious, clearly conscious, and remembered every incident; how the fellows gradually faded into the distance, finally, I saw them no more. But I still kept trudging on and on, determined to keep up on end as long as I could. After a time I suddenly brought up with a start, for in front of me, I saw a pool of beautifully clear water.

"Ha," I thought, "now, this is a mirage. Now in what books have I read about mirages?" and I stood there trying to recollect a book, or the name of an author that had dealt with these mirages, for I was fully convinced that that was what I saw. Then, as I gazed at this pool of water, which also seemed to be getting a bit hazy, I imagined I could see men lying down around it, and in an inconsequent way, I considered that just another strange phenomenon. Then I further noticed that they seemed to be actually drinking. "Well," I thought, "I have read about a mirage, where you could see water, but never where you could actually observe men going through all the motions of drinking." Still I gazed, making no effort whatever to reach the water, for I was stone wall sure that it was absolutely nothing but a mirage. Then it seemed as if I could even recognise some of the faces. "Why that is Bartle Macintyre," I thought. Then at last it struck me. Can it be real? and I bent down to try and touch the water. Sure enough, it was a real pool of pure clear crystal water. Instantly, I tried to scoop it up in my hands and drink, but I might as well have tried to lift the water with a sponge; my hands just absorbed it. then I remembered a quart bottle in my pocket, which had been overlooked when they relieved me of my precious oilskin pants. I plunged this into the water, filled and drank it; filled again and drank it. Three times in all.

I suppose after drinking like that, nothing but an ostrich like constitution saved me, though perhaps the saving grace was that we all laid down without moving, and went fast asleep.

Later we woke, filled every single receptacle to its utmost capacity and started on our way, back to the lagoon.

We took a slightly different course returning, which carried us through some high coarse grass, and here we retrieved the Captain, who, despite all our persuasion and in fact, some threats of force, had steadfastly refused to leave the scene of the wreck. The loss of the ship seemed to have preyed very heavily on his mind, and certainly he was never the same man again, and never took another command, although at the Board of Trade Enquiry he was to all intents and purposes, exonerated from blame.

We happened to see his head appear at one time above the long grass, and then he disappeared, having, as it proved, fallen down, and it was doubtful if he would ever have got on his feet again had we not found him. We gave him a good drink, and partly carrying him, managed to get him away. Before our party left the huts in search of water, several boats had already been found--in various stages of decay--and we had launched one, in slightly better condition than the rest, with the idea of having it meet us at the edge of the lagoon on our return with water.

Knowing the conditions of the fellows when we left, we should not have been surprised if an attempt were to be made to rush the water containers. So the strongest formed a sort of bodyguard, wilst we youngsters became the carriers. Much to our surprise, the fellows in the boat took very little notice of us, and at first we thought this was perhaps part of a rather deep game to catch us unawares, and so get hold of the water. It should be borne in mind that before we started, many of them were half crazy through drinking salt water.

About half way across the lagoon we got rather tired of sitting tight, protecting our precious water bags, and asked them if they didn't want a drink. To our amazement they replied, quite indifferently, "Oh, no, we found water just after you left!"

So we had had our little jaunt for nothing.

Actually what they had discovered was the selfsame springs that we had found on our first journey round the lagoon, only it so happened that in their search they had come across them again, just at dead low water, which, as it turned out, was the only time when the water could be obtained in any other condition than salt. I say in any other condition, for there was really very little to choose after all, either salt or fresh. The taste was utterly vile. They were just some sort of mineral springs from which the water had to be collected while still boiling hot, and then allowed to cool down, but the taste was somewhat similar to what one associates with, say, a mixture of chalk and antiquated egg! We drank it simply because we must quench our thirst, but even though years have passed I can still taste the beastly stuff. However, that was our drink, and we could take it or leave it, just as we liked.

The menu card included penguins, crayfish, Cape salmon and eggs. The least said about the latter, the better. Had we only arrived a few weeks earlier they might have been possible, but at that time, most of them that still remained eggs were in a very advanced state of incubation. The penguins were slightly better. Half fish and half bird, they seemed to have acquired all the bad qualities of both. The fish, unfortunately, took after the water, and tasted, if anything, worse. Crayfish formed the staple diet, when we could get them, which was only when the tide was rising, and not always then. Outside the lagoon, there were stacks of perfectly good and eatable Cape salmon. So there were in British Columbia! Lacking the wherewithal to catch them, they were as useful to us, in our position, as were the others. The old relics on the island that would actually float, were not equal to sea work; and after the first couple of days there were mighty few of us anyway with strength left to row a boat across the lagoon, let alone outside the shingle spits, in the open sea.

Everything on the island seemed poisonous. Some of the fellows took penguins' skins to wrap round their feet in lieu of boots, , but if they had the slightest scratch they very soon had to discard the skins, as their feet just swelled up and festered.

Our faith had to be pinned to crayfish, which we caught by attaching the innards of a penguin to the end of a line; throwing it out into the deep water, and then drawing it slowly in, the crayfish following. But this could only be done on an incoming tide, as that was the only time the crayfish seemed to rise. They were pretty hefty chaps and could easily nip a finger off between the serrated edges of their tails!