Читать книгу The Kip Brothers - Jules Verne - Страница 14

6

In Sight of Norfolk Island

A nearly perfect quadrilateral island on three sides, its fourth side features a rounded coastline that rises and modifies its regularity by jutting toward the northwest. At its four corners are Point Howe, Northeast Point, Point Blackbourne, and Rocky Point. More unusual, there is a peak, Mount Pitt, which rises some eleven hundred feet above the sea. Such is the geometrical layout of Norfolk Island,¹ situated in this area of the Pacific at 29 degrees 02 south latitude and 105 degrees 42 east longitude.²

This island has but six leagues of perimeter, and like most of the islands in this vast ocean, it is surrounded by a coral ring that protects it as a wall defends a city. The swells of the deep sea will never gnaw away its base of yellow chalk that a light surf would be enough to destroy, since the waves of the open sea crush each other against the coral reef before reaching it. So ships can reach it only with difficulty, slipping in between narrow and dangerous passes, exposed to all the surprises of currents and eddies. As for a so-called port, none exists in Norfolk. It is only on its southern shore, in the bay of Sydney, that penitentiaries were established. By its isolated location and by the difficulty of landing or leaving, it seems indeed that nature had destined this island to be nothing but a prison.

It is appropriate to mention also that in the south, toward Nepean Island and Philips Island, which complete the small Norfolk group, these coral reefs stretch out as much as six or seven leagues from the shore.

However, despite its restricted dimensions, it is a rich parcel of Great Britain’s colonial domain. When Cook discovered it in 1774, he was first struck by its admirable vegetation growing in that climate, both gentle and warm, of the tropics. It might have been considered a basket taken directly from the flora of New Zealand, ornamented as it was with identical plants. A flax of superior quality grew there, the “phormium tenax,”³ and a species of pine of great beauty belonging to the genus of araucarias. Then, as far as the eye could see, verdant plains stretched out where wild sorrel and fennel grew. Already, at the beginning of the century, the British government had transported a colony of convicts to the island. Thanks to the work of these unfortunates, patches of forest were cleared, agricultural labors were undertaken, and the resulting corn crop became such that bushels were counted by the thousands. It was a sort of granary of abundance there, placed between Australia and New Zealand. But too many reefs and shoals occupied the approaches to the island, preventing one from taking advantage of these harvests in any practical way.

The port of Auckland (from E.-E. Morris, L’Australasie pittoresque)

So, the establishment of a penitentiary there, in the presence of these obstacles, had to be abandoned after this first attempt. It is true that this island could very easily hold under an iron yoke the most hardened criminals of Tasmania and New Wales. So the penal colony was later reorganized. It then held as many as five hundred convicts watched over by one hundred and eighty soldiers, and an administration of five hundred employees. A public farm was developed, and the corn harvest assured their food supply in grain.

Moreover, the island of Norfolk was uninhabited at the time when the great navigator Cook established its geographic location. No native, Maori or Malaysian, had been attracted to it despite the richness of the soil. It never had any population other than those condemned by the British government. It was deserted at the time of its discovery, and deserted it became afterward. In 1842, for the second, and no doubt the last, time, England abandoned the penitentiary establishment, which was transported to Port Arthur,⁴ on the south coast of Tasmania.

Four days after having glimpsed the last vestiges of New Zealand, the James Cook sighted Norfolk Island. With a modest wind, it had gone eighty miles during the second day, a hundred and twenty during day three, as many again on day four, and, the breeze having dropped, only seventy on the fifth day. So toward evening, it had covered the distance of roughly four hundred miles that separates the two islands.

That afternoon, the watch pointed out a mountain that towered in the northeast. It was the peak of Mount Pitt, and by five o’clock the ship was located off the northeast point of Norfolk Island.

In the course of his navigation, Mr. Gibson had had this section of the Pacific carefully surveyed. No wreckage of a ship had been encountered along the route of the James Cook, and the mystery of the Dutch ship’s disappearance still remained to be solved.

As the sun set behind the peaks of the island, the wind fell and the sea took on a milky appearance, the waves disappearing from its surface, scarcely rolling from the long swell. Surely, the next day the brig would still be in sight of the island. It was but two miles away, and, being cautious, the captain avoided any nearer approach, for the coral banks stretched dangerously out into the sea. Besides, the James Cook was practically as motionless as if it had been anchored. No current stirred it; the sails hung from the yardarms in heavy folds. If the breeze came up, all they would have to do was to let them fall to get under way.

So Mr. Gibson and his passengers had only to enjoy this magnificent evening under a cloudless sky.

After dinner, Mr. Hawkins, the captain, and Nat Gibson came aft to sit down.

“Here we are in flat calm,” said Mr. Gibson, “and, unfortunately, I can discover nothing that might indicate the breeze returning.”

“Well, that won’t last long, in my opinion,” observed Mr. Hawkins.

“Why not?” the captain asked.

“Because we’re not in full warm season, Gibson, and the Pacific does not have the reputation of justifying its name, which was given to it a bit in jest.”

“I agree, old friend. Yet, even during this season, ships remain becalmed several days. That could happen to the James Cook, and I wouldn’t really be surprised.”

“Very fortunately,” replied the shipowner, “we’re not in the days when Norfolk Island contained a population of bandits. Then it would not have been wise to anchor nearby.”

“You’re right. We would’ve had to be on guard.”

“In my childhood,” continued Mr. Hawkins, “I heard about those criminals that no system of correction at any prison had been able to discipline, and so the government decided to transport the whole colony to Norfolk Island.”

“They were no doubt well guarded, on the one hand,” Nat Gibson said, “and, on the other, how could they escape from an island that no ship dared approach?”

“Well guarded, yes, they certainly were, young man,” replied Mr. Hawkins. “A difficult flight, indeed! But, for criminals who don’t retreat before anything when it’s a question of recovering their freedom, everything is possible, even what seems not to be.”

“Were there frequent escapes, Mr. Hawkins?”

“Yes, Nat, and even incredible ones! Either convicts managed to get hold of some government boat, or they secretly made one with strips of bark, and they didn’t hesitate to try to escape.”

“Having ninety chances out of a hundred of dying,” declared Captain Gibson.

“No doubt,” Mr. Hawkins replied. “And, when they met some ship like ours in the island’s waters, they jumped aboard in no time and rid themselves of the crew. Then they’d go off plundering through the Polynesian archipelagoes, where it wouldn’t be easy to track them down.”

“Well, there’s nothing more to fear now,” affirmed Captain Gibson.

One might rightly notice that everything Mr. Hawkins had just said, and which was true, coincided with the plans formed by Flig Balt and Vin Mod. Although they were not locked up in Norfolk Island, they had the criminal instincts of convicts; they only asked to do what convicts would have done in their place, changing the honest brig of the Hawkins firm, in Hobart Town, into a ship of pirates, and then to exercise their brigandage throughout the central regions of the Pacific Ocean, where it would be hard to catch them.

So, if the James Cook had nothing to fear at the moment as they approached Norfolk Island since the prison had been transferred to Port Arthur, it was no less threatened by the presence of Dunedin recruits, resolved to carry out the plans of Vin Mod and the bosun.

“Well then,” Nat Gibson said, “there’s no danger. Father, would you allow me to take out the dinghy?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Go fishing at the foot of the rocks. We’ve still got two hours of daylight. It’s the right time, and I’ll keep in sight of the brig.”

It was no trouble to grant the young man’s request. Two sailors and he would be able to string their lines straight down by the coral banks. These waters were teeming with fish, and they would not return without making a good catch.

Besides, Mr. Gibson thought he should drop anchor there. The current bearing rather to the southeast, he sent down the anchor with thirty-five fathoms of chain to a sandy bottom.

After readying the dinghy, Hobbes and Wickley got ready to accompany Nat Gibson. They were, as we know, two trusted sailors the captain was proud of.

“Hop to it, Nat,” he said to his son, “but don’t stay out until dark.”

“That I can promise, Father.”

“And bring us something good to fry up for tomorrow’s lunch,” added Mr. Hawkins, “and also a bit of wind if there is any left on shore!”

The dinghy was filled, and with the vigorous pull on the oars it had soon crossed the two miles separating the brig from the first coral banks.

Their fishing lines were dropped. Nat Gibson had not needed to toss his grapnel on the reef. No current, not even surf. The dinghy remained motionless once the oars were pulled in.

On the island side, the sandbanks stretched about a half mile. As a consequence, less than in the south toward Philip Island and although the coast was no longer lit by the sun which was hidden by the mass of Mount Pitt, one could still distinguish the details of the island’s topography: narrow banks among the rocks of yellowish limestone, closed creeks, rocky points, numerous streams flowing toward the sea, thousands of them crossing through the heavy forests and the verdant plains of the island. This entire coastline was deserted. Not a cabin among the trees, no smoke rising from the foliage, not one canoe beached upside down or pulled up on the sand.

The movement of life was not lacking, however, in the region between the crests of the sandbanks and the land. But it was due uniquely to the presence of aquatic birds, which filled the air with their discordant cries, crows with whitish down, coucals in green plumage, kingfishers whose body is aquamarine, starlings with ruby eyes, the flycatcher, without mentioning the frigate birds that swiftly flew by.

If Nat Gibson had brought along his gun, he could have taken some good shots at them—shots that would’ve been purely wasted, it’s true, for they are inedible. It would be better, in preparing for the next meal, to ask of the sea what the air could not give, and all in all the sea would show itself to be quite generous.

After an hour at the edge of the banks, the dinghy was ready to bring back enough food for the crew for a couple of days. The fish were numerous in this clear water, prickly with marine plants, under which swarmed crustaceans, mollusks, shellfish, lobsters, crabs, shrimp, snails, and barnacles—whose numbers were clearly inexhaustible since the amphibians, seals and the like consumed them in vast quantities.⁵

Among the fish that struck the lines and that represented an enormous variety of species rivaling each other by splendor and color, Nat Gibson and the two sailors brought back several pairs of blennies. The blenny, a bizarre animal, has eyes open on the top of his head, practically no jaw, and is linen gray in color. It lives in the water, runs along the shore, and leaps on the rocks with kangaroo-like movements.

It was seven o’clock. The sun had just gone down, and its last purple gleam was flickering out on the peak of Mount Pitt.

“Mr. Nat,” Wickley said, “isn’t it time to return on board?”

“That would be wise,” added Hobbes. “Sometimes an evening breeze rises, coming off the land, and if the brig can take advantage of it, we mustn’t keep it waiting.”

“Pull in the lines,” said the young man. “Let’s go back to the James Cook. But I rather doubt we can bring the wind Mr. Hawkins asked me about.”

“No,” Hobbes declared. “There’s not enough wind to fill a beret!”

“Out at sea, there’s not a single cloud,” added Wickley.

“Let’s head back,” ordered Nat Gibson.

But before leaving the bank, he stood up in the stern of the dinghy and cast a glance along the edge of all the reefs that circled the northeast point. The disappearance of the schooner that had not been heard from came back to his mind. Would he not perceive some debris of the Wilhelmina, some remnant that the currents might have borne toward the island? Wasn’t it possible that the hull of the boat, not having been entirely demolished, some part of the carcass would still be visible north or south of the point?

So the two sailors looked up and down the coast for a distance of several miles. It was a vain effort. They saw no remains of the schooner described by the steamer.

Wickley and Hobbes were about to pick up the oars, when, on one of the rocks, separated from the shore, Nat Gibson thought he could make out a human form. As he was a mile or so away, and at a moment when dusk was beginning to obscure the horizon, he wondered if he had made a mistake. Was it a man, attracted to the shore by the arrival of the dinghy? Was the man not waving his arms to call attention for help? It was almost impossible to say.

“Look!” said Nat Gibson to the two sailors.

Wickley and Hobbes looked as directed. At that instant, with darkness invading that part of the shore, the human form, if there had been a human form, disappeared.

“I saw nothing …,” Wickley said.

“Nor did I,” declared Hobbes.

“Yet,” replied Nat Gibson, “I’m quite sure I didn’t make a mistake. A man was there a moment ago.”

“You think you saw a man?” Wickley asked.

“Yes … There … on the top of that rock, and he was gesturing … Perhaps he called out … but his voice wouldn’t reach us here.”

“Sometimes you can see seals on these shores, at sundown,” observed Hobbes, “and when one of them stands up, he can be mistaken for a man.”

“I agree,” replied Nat Gibson, “and at this distance, it’s possible that I didn’t see clearly enough …”

“Is Norfolk Island inhabited now?” Hobbes asked.

“No,” replied the young man. “There are no natives there. However, some shipwrecked men might have been forced to seek shelter here.”

“And if there are any shipwrecked people,” added Wickley, “do you think they might be from the Wilhelmina? …”

“Let’s go back to the brig,” ordered Nat Gibson. “It’s likely that the brig will still be in this same place tomorrow, and with our spyglass we’ll search all along the shore, which will be in full sun by daybreak.”

“Look!” said Nat Gibson to the two sailors.

The two sailors leaned on their oars. In twenty minutes, the dinghy had reached the James Cook. Then the captain, still distrusting part of his crew, was careful to have the dinghy replaced in its cradle.

The fish were graciously accepted by Mr. Hawkins, and, as he was interested in natural history, he could study his blennies, which he had never before held in his hands.

Nat Gibson told his father about what he thought he had seen when he was in the dinghy by the coral reefs.

The captain and the shipowner paid strict attention to what the young man had to say. They knew full well that, since the abandonment of the island as a place of detention, it had to be deserted. The natives of the neighboring archipelagoes, Australians, Maoris, or Papouas, never had the thought of settling down there.

“It’s possible, nevertheless, that fishermen might be in the neighborhood,” Flig Balt remarked, for he was taking part in the conversation.

“Indeed,” responded the shipowner, “that would not be surprising at this time of year.”

“Did you see any craft inside the reef?” the captain asked his son.

“None, Father.”

“Well, I think,” said the bosun, “that Mr. Nat might have made a mistake. Dusk had already fallen. So, in my opinion, Captain, if the wind comes up tonight we would be wise to pull anchor.”

One can understand that. Flig Balt, already quite vexed by the presence of Mr. Hawkins and Nat Gibson on board the brig, feared nothing as much as taking on new passengers. Under these conditions he would be obliged to give up his plan—which he didn’t intend to do. His accomplices and he were formally resolved to take over the ship before arriving at New Ireland.

“However,” continued the captain, “if Nat has not made a mistake, if there are shipwrecked men on this side of Norfolk—and why wouldn’t they be from the Wilhelmina?—we have to help them. I would be wanting in my duties as a man and as a sailor if I set sail without being sure.”

“You’re right, Gibson,” approved Mr. Hawkins. “But I’m thinking, that man that Nat thought he saw, might he not be some convict escaped from the penitentiary and remaining on the island?”

“Well, that man would be very old now,” answered the captain, “for the evacuation dates from 1842, and if he were already in prison by then, since we are in 1885, he’d be more than a septuagenarian now!”

“That’s true, Gibson, but I’ll still prefer the idea that people shipwrecked in the Dutch schooner might have been cast up onto Norfolk, if Nat has not made a mistake.”

“No, I don’t think so!” the young man confirmed.

“Then,” Mr. Hawkins said, “those poor folks would have been there some two weeks, for the shipwreck probably did not occur earlier than that.”

“Right, according to what the captain of the Assumption told us,” answered Mr. Gibson. “So tomorrow, let’s do everything we can, all that we have to do. Yes, as Nat believes, if a man is on that side of the coast, he’ll stay till daylight to observe the brig, and, despite the distance, we’ll make him out with our field glasses.”

“But, Captain,” insisted the bosun, “I repeat, perhaps a wind, a favorable wind will rise tonight …”

“Whether it rises or not, Balt, the James Cook will remain at anchor, and we shall not sail without having sent out a reconnaissance boat. I will not leave Norfolk Island until we’ve inspected the area around Northeast Point, even if we must spend a whole day at it.”

“Good, Father, and I’m convinced that it will not be time wasted …”

“Isn’t that your opinion, Hawkins?” the captain asked, turning toward the shipowner.

“Absolutely,” responded Mr. Hawkins.

And, indeed, it would be inappropriate to congratulate Mr. Gibson too much on his resolution. Acting like that, was he not fulfilling a basic humanitarian duty?

When Flig Balt reached the forequarters, he told Vin Mod what had just been said and just been decided. The sailor was no more pleased than the bosun. After all, perhaps Nat Gibson was mistaken … It’s even possible none of those shipwrecked on the Wilhelmina had sought refuge on that shore … The question would be resolved in some twelve hours.

Night arrived, a fairly dark night, a night with a new moon. A curtain of high fog veiled the constellations. Nevertheless, the land was visible, dimly, in the west, a rather somber mass at the edge of the horizon.

Toward nine o’clock a light breeze caused the sea to wash against the James Cook, which turned the ninety degrees on its anchor chain. This breeze would have facilitated their navigating north, for it blew from the southwest. But the captain did not change his mind, and the brig remained at its mooring.

Besides, they were only intermittent puffs that skimmed the peak of Mount Pitt. The sea soon fell back to a calm.

Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Gibson, and his son were seated aft. They were not in a hurry to return to their rooms; they breathed deeply of the fresh evening air after the warmth of the day.

Now, it was twenty-five minutes past nine when Nat Gibson, getting to his feet and looking toward land, took a few steps to port.

“A fire! There’s a fire!” he said.

“A fire?” repeated the shipowner.

“Yes, Mr. Hawkins.”

“And in what direction?”

“Toward the rock where I saw that man …”

“That’s right,” declared the captain.

“You see? I wasn’t mistaken,” Nat Gibson cried out.

A fire was burning in that direction, a wood fire that sent up good-sized flames in the middle of a thick swirling smoke.

“Gibson,” affirmed Mr. Hawkins, “it’s surely a signal for us.”

“No doubt about it!” responded the captain. “There are shipwrecked people on the island.”

Shipwrecked or whatever, human beings were surely asking for help, and how anxious they must have been, what fear they must have felt that the brig had already raised anchor! They had to reassure them, which was done in an instant.

“Nat,” he said, “take your gun and answer his signal.”

The young man returned to his quarters and came out with a rifle.

Three shots were then heard, and the shore sent their echoes back to the James Cook.

At the same time, one of the sailors waved a lantern three times,⁶ and it was hoisted to the top of the mizzenmast.

There was nothing further to do but await the return of dawn, and the James Cook would set out to make contact with this coast of Norfolk Island.