The Coral Island: A Tale of the Pacific Ocean by R. M. Ballantyne (the lemonade war series txt) 📖

nailing the ribs to the keel, for we had no instrument capable of boring a large hole, and no nails to fasten them with. We were, indeed, much perplexed here; but Jack at length devised an instrument that served very well. He took the remainder of our hoop-iron and beat it into the form of a pipe or cylinder, about as thick as a man’s finger. This he did by means of our axe and the old rusty axe we had found at the house of the poor man at the other side of the island. This, when made red hot, bored slowly though the timbers; and, the better to retain the heat, Jack shut up one end of it and filled it with sand. True, the work was very slowly done, but it mattered not—we had little else to do. Two holes were bored in each timber, about an inch and a half apart, and also down into the keel, but not quite through. Into these were placed stout pegs made of a tree called iron-wood; and, when they were hammered well home, the timbers were as firmly fixed as if they had been nailed with iron. The gunwales, which were very stout, were fixed in a similar manner. But, besides the wooden nails, they were firmly lashed to the stem and stern posts and ribs by means of a species of cordage which we had contrived to make out of the fibrous husk of the cocoa nut. This husk was very tough, and when a number of the threads were joined together they formed excellent cordage. At first we tied the different lengths together, but this was such a clumsy and awkward complication of knots, that we contrived, by careful interlacing of the ends together before twisting, to make good cordage of any size or length we chose. Of course it cost us much time and infinite labour, but Jack kept up our spirits when we grew weary, and so all that we required was at last constructed.

Planks were now cut off the chestnut trees of about an inch thick. These were dressed with the axe,—but clumsily, for an axe is ill adapted for such work. Five of these planks on each side were sufficient, and we formed the boat in a very rounded, barrel-like shape, in order to have as little twisting of the planks as possible; for, although we could easily bend them, we could not easily twist them. Having no nails to rivet the planks with, we threw aside the ordinary fashion of boat building and adopted one of our own. The planks were therefore placed on each other’s edges, and sewed together with the tough cordage already mentioned. They were also thus sewed to the stem, the stern, and the keel. Each stitch or tie was six inches apart, and was formed thus: Three holes were bored in the upper plank and three in the lower,—the holes being above each other, that is, in a vertical line. Through these holes the cord was passed, and, when tied, formed a powerful stitch of three ply. Besides this, we placed between the edges of the planks, layers of cocoa-nut fibre, which, as it swelled when wetted, would, we hoped, make our little vessel water-tight. But in order further to secure this end, we collected a large quantity of pitch from the bread-fruit tree, with which, when boiled in our old iron pot, we payed the whole of the inside of the boat, and, while it was yet hot, placed large pieces of cocoa-nut cloth on it, and then gave it another coat above that. Thus the interior was covered with a tough water-tight material; while the exterior, being uncovered, and so exposed to the swelling action of the water, was we hoped, likely to keep the boat quite dry. I may add that our hopes were not disappointed.

While Jack was thus engaged, Peterkin and I sometimes assisted him, but, as our assistance was not much required, we more frequently went a-hunting on the extensive mud-flats at the entrance of the long valley which lay nearest to our bower. Here we found large flocks of ducks of various kinds, some of them bearing so much resemblance to the wild ducks of our own country that I think they must have been the same. On these occasions we took the bow and the sling, with both of which we were often successful, though I must confess I was the least so. Our suppers were thus pleasantly varied, and sometimes we had such a profusion spread out before us that we frequently knew not with which of the dainties to begin.

I must also add, that the poor old cat which we had brought home had always a liberal share of our good things, and so well was it looked after, especially by Peterkin, that it recovered much of its former strength, and seemed to improve in sight as well as hearing.

The large flat stone, or rock of coral, which stood just in front of the entrance to our bower, was our table. On this rock we had spread out the few articles we possessed the day we were shipwrecked; and on the same rock, during many a day afterwards, we spread out the bountiful supply with which we had been blessed on our Coral Island. Sometimes we sat down at this table to a feast consisting of hot rolls,—as Peterkin called the newly baked bread fruit,—a roast pig, roast duck, boiled and roasted yams, cocoa nuts, taro, and sweet potatoes; which we followed up with a dessert of plums, apples, and plantains,—the last being a large-sized and delightful fruit, which grew on a large shrub or tree not more than twelve feet high, with light-green leaves of enormous length and breadth. These luxurious feasts were usually washed down with cocoa-nut lemonade.

Occasionally Peterkin tried to devise some new dish,—“a conglomerate,” as he used to say; but these generally turned out such atrocious compounds that he was ultimately induced to give up his attempts in extreme disgust. Not forgetting, however, to point out to Jack that his failure was a direct contradiction to the proverb which he, Jack, was constantly thrusting down his throat, namely, that “where there’s a will there’s a way.” For he had a great will to become a cook, but could by no means find a way to accomplish that end.

One day, while Peterkin and I were seated beside our table on which dinner was spread, Jack came up from the beach, and, flinging down his axe, exclaimed,—

“There, lads, the boat’s finished at last! so we’ve nothing to do now but shape two pair of oars, and then we may put to sea as soon as we like.”

This piece of news threw us into a state of great joy; for although we were aware that the boat had been gradually getting near its completion, it had taken so long that we did not expect it to be quite ready for at least two or three weeks. But Jack had wrought hard and said nothing, in order to surprise us.

“My dear fellow,” cried Peterkin, “you’re a perfect trump. But why did you not tell us it was so nearly ready? won’t we have a jolly sail to-morrow? eh?”

“Don’t talk so much, Peterkin,” said Jack; “and, pray, hand me a bit of that pig.”

“Certainly, my dear,” cried Peterkin, seizing the axe; “what part will you have? a leg, or a wing, or a piece of the breast; which?”

“A hind leg, if you please,” answered Jack; “and, pray, be so good as to include the tail.”

“With all my heart,” said Peterkin, exchanging the axe for his hoop-iron knife, with which he cut off the desired portion. “I’m only too glad, my dear boy, to see that your appetite is so wholesale; and there’s no chance whatever of its dwindling down into re-tail again, at least in so far as this pig is concerned. Ralph, lad, why don’t you laugh?—eh?” he added turning suddenly to me with a severe look of inquiry.

“Laugh?” said I; “what at, Peterkin? why should I laugh?”

Both Jack and Peterkin answered this inquiry by themselves laughing so immoderately that I was induced to believe I had missed noticing some good joke, so I begged that it might be explained to me; but as this only produced repeated roars of laughter, I smiled and helped myself to another slice of plantain.

“Well, but,” continued Peterkin, “I was talking of a sail to-morrow. Can’t we have one, Jack?”

“No,” replied Jack, “we can’t have a sail, but I hope we shall have a row, as I intend to work hard at the oars this afternoon, and, if we can’t get them finished by sunset we’ll light our candle-nuts, and turn them out of hands before we turn into bed.”

“Very good,” said Peterkin, tossing a lump of pork to the cat, who received it with a mew of satisfaction. “I’ll help you, if I can.”

“Afterwards,” continued Jack, “we will make a sail out of the cocoa-nut cloth, and rig up a mast, and then we shall be able to sail to some of the other islands, and visit our old friends the penguins.”

The prospect of being so soon in a position to extend our observations to the other islands, and enjoy a sail over the beautiful sea, afforded us much delight, and, after dinner, we set about making the oars in good earnest. Jack went into the woods and blocked them roughly out with the axe, and I smoothed them down with the knife, while Peterkin remained in the bower, spinning, or, rather, twisting some strong thick cordage with which to fasten them to the boat.

We worked hard and rapidly, so that, when the sun went down, Jack and I returned to the bower with four stout oars, which required little to be done to them save a slight degree of polishing with the knife. As we drew near we were suddenly arrested by the sound of a voice! We were not a little surprised at this—indeed I may almost say alarmed—for, although Peterkin was undoubtedly fond of talking, we had never, up to this time, found him talking to himself. We listened intently, and still heard the sound of a voice as if in conversation. Jack motioned me to be silent, and, advancing to the bower on tip-toe, we peeped in.

The sight that met our gaze was certainly not a little amusing. On the top of a log which we sometimes used as a table, sat the black cat, with a very demure expression on its countenance; and in front of it, sitting on the ground, with his legs extended on either side of the log, was Peterkin. At the moment we saw him he was gazing intently into the cat’s face, with his nose about four inches from it,—his hands being thrust into his breeches pockets.

“Cat,” said Peterkin, turning his head a little on one side, “I love you!”

There was a pause, as if Peterkin awaited a reply to this affectionate declaration but the cat said nothing.

“Do you hear me?” cried Peterkin, sharply. “I love you—I do. Don’t you love me?”

To this touching appeal the cat said “Mew,” faintly.

“Ah! that’s right. You’re a jolly old rascal. Why did you not speak at once? eh?” and Peterkin put forward his mouth and kissed the cat on the nose!

“Yes,” continued Peterkin, after a pause, “I love you. D’you think I’d say so if I didn’t, you black villain? I love you because I’ve got to take care of you, and to look after you, and to think about you, and to see that you don’t die—”

“Mew, me-a-w!” said the cat.

“Very good,” continued Peterkin, “quite true, I have no doubt; but you’ve no right to interrupt me, sir. Hold your tongue till I have done speaking. Moreover, cat, I love you because you came to me the first time you ever saw me, and didn’t seem to be afraid, and appeared to be fond of me, though you didn’t know that I wasn’t going to kill you. Now, that was brave, that was bold, and very jolly, old boy, and I love you for it—I do!”

Again there was a pause of a few minutes, during which the cat looked placid, and Peterkin dropped his eyes upon its toes as if in contemplation. Suddenly he looked up.

“Well, cat, what are you thinking about now? won’t speak? eh? Now, tell me; don’t you think it’s a monstrous shame that these two scoundrels, Jack and Ralph, should keep us waiting for our supper so long?”

Here the cat arose, put up its back and stretched itself; yawned slightly, and licked the point of Peterkin’s nose!

“Just so, old boy, you’re a clever fellow,—I really do believe the brute understands me!” said Peterkin, while a broad grin overspread his face, as he drew back and surveyed the cat.

At this point Jack burst into a loud fit of laughter. The cat uttered an angry fuff and fled, while Peterkin sprang up and exclaimed,—

“Bad luck to