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The Crater by James Fenimore Cooper

J >> James Fenimore Cooper >> The Crater




Mark had now to steer in an entirely new direction, believing, from what
he had seen while aloft the day before, that he could make his way out
into the open ocean by proceeding a due south course. In order to do
this, and to get into the most promising-looking channel in that
direction, he was obliged to pass through the narrow strait that
separated the Reef from the large range of rock over which he had roamed
the day succeeding the earthquake. Of course, the bridge was removed, in
order to allow the boat's mast to pass; but for this, Mark did not care.
He had seen his stock the previous evening, and saw that it wanted for
nothing. Even the fowls had gone across to the new territory, on
exploring expeditions; and Kitty herself had left her sweet pastures on
the Summit, to see of what the world was made beyond her old range. It
is true she had made one journey in that quarter, in the company, of her
master; but, one journey no more satisfied her than it would have
satisfied the curiosity of any other female.

After passing the bridge, the boat entered a long narrow reach, that
extended at least two leagues, in nearly a direct line towards Vulcan's
Peak. As it approached the end of this piece of water, Mark saw that he
must enter a bay of considerable extent; one, indeed, that was much
larger than any he had yet seen in his island, or, to speak more
accurately, his group of islands. On one side of this bay appeared a
large piece of level land, or a plain, which Mark supposed, might cover
one or two thousand acres. Its colour was so different from anything he
had yet seen, that our young man was induced to land, and to walk a
short distance to examine it. On reaching its margin, it was found to be
a very shallow basin, of which the bottom was mud, with a foot or two of
salt water still remaining, and in which sea weed, some ten or twelve
inches in thickness, was floating. It was almost possible for Mark to
walk on this weed, the green appearance of which induced him to name the
place the Prairie. Such a collection of weed could only have been owing
to the currents, which must have brought it into this basin, where it
was probably retained even previously to the late eruption. The presence
of the deposit of mud, as well as the height of the surrounding rocks,
many of which were doubtless out of water previously to the phenomenon,
went to corroborate this opinion.

After working her way through a great many channels, some wide and some
narrow, some true and some false, the Bridget reached the southern verge
of the group, about noon. Mark then supposed himself to be quite twenty
miles from the Reef, and the Peak appeared very little nearer than when
he left it. This startled him on the score of distance; and, after
meditating on all his chances, the young man determined to pass the
remainder of that day where he was, in order to put to sea with as much
daylight before him as possible. He desired also to explore the coast
and islands in that vicinity, in order to complete his survey of the
cluster. He looked for a convenient place to anchor his boat,
accordingly, ate his dinner, and set out on foot to explore, armed as
usual with a fowling-piece.

In the first place, an outlet to the sea very different from that on the
eastern side of the group, was found here, on its southern. The channel
opened into a bay of some size, with an arm of rock reaching well off on
the weather side, so that no broken water was encountered in passing
into or out of it, provided one kept sufficiently clear of the point
itself. As there was abundance of room, Mark saw he should have no
difficulty in getting out into open water, here, or in getting back
again. What was more, the arm, or promontory of rock just mentioned, had
a hummock near a hundred feet in height on its extremity, that answered
admirably for a land-mark. Most of this hummock must have been above
water previously to the late eruption, though it appeared to our
explorer, that all the visible land, as he proceeded south, was lifted
higher and on a gradually-increasing scale, as if the eruption had
exerted its force at a certain point, the new crater for instance, and
raised the earth to the northward of that point, on an inclined plane.
This might account, in a measure, for the altitude of the Peak, which
was near the great crevice that must have been left somewhere, unless
materials on its opposite side had fallen to fill it up again. Most of
these views were merely speculative, though the fact of the greater
elevation of all the rocks, in this part of the group, over those
further north, was beyond dispute. Thus the coast, here, was generally
fifty or eighty feet high; whereas, at the Reef, even now, the surface
of the common rock was not much more than twenty feet above the water.
The rise seemed to be gradual, moreover, which certainly favoured this
theory.

As a great deal of sand and mud had been brought up by the eruption,
there was no want of fresh water. Mark found even a little brook, of as
perfectly sweet a stream as he had ever tasted in America, running into
the little harbour where he had secured the boat. He followed this
stream two miles, ere he reached its source, or sources; for it came
from at least, a dozen copious springs, that poured their tribute from a
bed of clean sand several miles in length, and which had every sign of
having been bare for ages. In saying this, however, it is not to be
supposed that the signs, as to time, were very apparent anywhere. Lava,
known to have been ejected from the bowels of the earth thousands of
years, has just as fresh an appearance, to the ordinary observer, as
that which was thrown out ten years ago; and, had it not been for the
deposits of moist mud, the remains of fish, sea-weed that was still
undecayed, pools of salt water, and a few other peculiarities of the
same sort, Mark would have been puzzled to find any difference between
the rocks recently thrown up, and those which were formerly exposed to
the air. Even the mud was fast changing its appearance, cracking and
drying under the sun of the tropics. In a month or two, should as much
rain as usual fall, it was probable the sea-weed would be far gone in
decay.

It was still early when our adventurer kneeled on the sand, near his
boat, to hold his last direct communication with his Creator, ere he
slept. Those communications were now quite frequent with Mark, it being
no unusual thing for him to hold them when sailing in his boat, on the
deck of the ship, or in the soft salubrious air of the Summit. He slept
none the less soundly for having commended his soul to God, asking
support against temptations, and forgiveness for past sins. These
prayers were usually very short. More than half the time they were
expressed in the compendious and beautiful words given to man by Christ
himself, the model and substance of all petitions of this nature. But
the words were devoutly uttered, the heart keeping even pace with them,
and the soul fully submitting to their influence.

Mark arose, next morning, two hours before the light appeared, and at
once left the group. Time, was now important to him; for, while he
anticipated the possibility of remaining under the lee of the mountain
during the succeeding night, he also anticipated the possibility of
being compelled to return. In a favourable time, with the wind a little
free, five knots in the hour was about the maximum of the boat's rate of
sailing, though it was affected by the greater or less height of the sea
that was on. When the waves ran heavily, the Bridget's low sails got
becalmed in the troughs, and she consequently lost much of her way. On
the whole, however, five knots might be set down as her average speed,
under the pressure of the ordinary trades, and with whole canvas, and a
little off the wind. Close-hauled, she scarcely made more than three;
while, with the wind on the quarter, she often went seven, especially in
smooth water.

The course steered was about a point to the westward of south, the boat
running altogether by compass, for the first two hours. At the end of
that time day returned and the dark, frowning Peak itself became
visible. The sun had no sooner risen, than Mark felt satisfied with his
boat's performance. Objects began to come out of the mass of the
mountain, which no longer appeared a pile of dark outline, without
detail. He expected this, and was even disappointed that his eyes could
not command more, for he now saw that he had materially underrated the
distance between the crater and the Peak, which must be nearer sixty
than fifty miles. The channel between the group and this isolated mass
was, at least, twelve leagues in width. These twelve leagues were now to
be run, and our young navigator thought he had made fully three of them,
when light returned.

From that moment every mile made a sensible difference in the face of
the mountain. Light and shadow first became visible; then ravines,
cliffs, and colours, came into the view. Each league that he advanced
increased Mark's admiration and awe; and by the time that the boat was
on the last of those leagues which had appeared so long, he began to
have a more accurate idea of the sublime nature of the phenomenon that
had been wrought so near him. Vulcan's Peak, as an island, could not be
less than eight or nine miles in length, though its breadth did not much
exceed two. Running north and south, it offered its narrow side to the
group of the crater, which had deceived its solitary observer. Yes! of
the millions on earth, Mark Woolston, alone, had been so situated as to
become a witness of this grand display of the powers of the elements.
Yet, what was this in comparison with the thousand vast globes that were
rolling about in space, objects so familiar as to be seen daily and
nightly without raising a thought, in the minds of many, from the
created to the creator? Even these globes come and go, and men remain
indifferent to the mighty change!

The wind had been fresh in crossing the strait, and Mark was not sorry
when his pigmy boat came under the shadow of the vast cliffs which
formed the northern extremity of the Peak. When still a mile distant, he
thought he was close on the rocks; nor did he get a perfectly true idea
of the scale on which this rare mountain had been formed until running
along at its base, within a hundred yards of its rocks. Coming in to
leeward, as a matter of course, Mark found comparatively smooth water,
though the unceasing heaving and setting of the ocean rendered it a
little hazardous to go nearer to the shore. For some time our explorer
was fearful he should not be able to land at all; and he was actually
thinking of putting about, to make the best of his way back, while light
remained to do so, when he came off a place that seemed fitted by art,
rather than by nature, to meet his wishes. A narrow opening appeared
between two cliffs, of about equal height, or some hundred feet in
elevation, one of which extended further into the ocean than its
neighbour. The water being quite smooth in this inlet, Mark ventured to
enter it, the wind favouring his advance. On passing this gateway, he
found himself nearly becalmed, in a basin that might be a hundred yards
in diameter, which was not only surrounded by a sandy beach, but which
had also a sandy bottom. The water was several fathoms deep, and it was
very easy to run the bows of the boat anywhere on the beach. This was
done, the sails were furled, and Mark sprang ashore, taking the grapnel
with him. Like Columbus, he knelt on the sands, and returned his thanks
to God.

Not only did a ravine open from this basin, winding its way up the
entire ascent, but a copious stream of water ran through it, foaming and
roaring amid its glens. At first, Mark supposed this was sea-water,
still finding its way from some lake on the Peak; but, on tasting it, he
found it was perfectly sweet. Provided with his gun, and carrying his
pack, our young man entered this ravine, and following the course of the
brook, he at once commenced an ascent. The route was difficult only in
the labour of moving upwards, and by no means as difficult in that as he
had expected to find it. It was, nevertheless, fortunate that this
climbing was to be done in the shade, the sun seldom penetrating into
those cool and somewhat damp crevices through which the brook found its
way.

Notwithstanding his great activity, Mark Woolston was just an hour in
ascending to the Peak. In no place had he found the path difficult,
though almost always upward; but he believed he had walked more than two
miles before he came out on level ground. When he had got up about
three-fourths of the way, the appearances of things around him suddenly
changed. Although the rock itself looked no older than that below, it
had, occasionally, a covering that clearly could never have emerged from
the sea within the last few days. From that point everything denoted an
older existence in the air, from which our young man inferred that the
summit of Vulcan's Peak had been an island long prior to the late
eruption. Every foot he advanced confirmed this opinion, and the
conclusion was that the ancient island had lain too low to be visible to
one on the Reef.

An exclamation of delight escaped from our explorer, as he suddenly came
out on the broken plain of the Peak. It was not absolutely covered, but
was richly garnished with wood; cocoa-nut, bread-fruits, and other
tropical trees; and it was delightfully verdant with young grasses. The
latter were still wet with a recent shower that Mark had seen pass over
the mountain, while standing for the island; and on examining them more
closely, the traces of the former shower of volcanic ashes were yet to
be seen. The warmth in the sun, after so sharp a walk, caused the young
man to plunge into the nearest grove, where he had no difficulty in
helping himself to as many cocoa-nuts, fresh from the trees, as a
thousand men could have consumed. Every one has heard of the delicious
beverage that the milk of the cocoa-nut, and of the delicious food that
its pulp furnishes, when each is taken from the fruit before it hardens.
How these trees came there, Mark did not know. The common theory is that
birds convey the seeds from island to island; though some suppose that
the earth contains the elements of all vegetation, and that this or that
is quickened, as particular influences are brought to bear by means of
climate and other agents.

After resting himself for an hour in that delicious grove, Mark began to
roam around the plain, to get an idea of its beauties and extent. The
former were inexhaustible, offering every variety of landscape, from the
bold and magnificent to the soft and bewitching. There were birds
innumerable, of the most brilliant plumage, and some that Mark imagined
must be good to eat. In particular did he observe an immense number of
a very small sort that were constantly pecking at a wild fig, of which
there was a grove of considerable extent. The fig itself, he did not
find as palatable as he had hoped, though it was refreshing, and served
to vary the diet; but the bird struck him to be of the same kind as the
celebrated reed-bird, of the Philadelphia market, which we suppose to be
much the same as the _becca fichi_ of Italy. Being provided with
mustard-seed shot, Mark loaded his piece properly, and killed at least
twenty of these little creatures at one discharge. After cleaning them,
he struck a light by means of the pan and some powder, and kindled a
fire. Here was wood, too, in any quantity, an article of which he had
feared in time he might be in want, and which he had already begun to
husband, though used only in his simple cookery. Spitting half-a-dozen
of the birds, they were soon roasted. At the same time he roasted a
bunch of plantain, and, being provided with pepper and salt in his pack,
as well as with some pilot-bread, and a pint-bottle of rum, we are
almost ashamed to relate how our young explorer dined. Nothing was
wanting to such a meal but the sweets of social converse. Mark fancied,
as he sat enjoying that solitary repast, so delicious of itself, and
which was just enough sweetened with toil to render it every way
acceptable, that he could gladly give up all the rest of the world, for
the enjoyment of a paradise like that before him, with Bridget for his
Eve.

The elevation of the mountain rendered the air far more grateful and
cool than he was accustomed to find it, at mid-summer, down on the Reef,
and the young man was in a sort of gentle intoxication while breathing
it. Then it was that he most longed for a companion, though little did
he imagine how near he was to some of his species, at that very moment;
and how soon that, the dearest wish of his heart, was to be met by an
adventure altogether so unexpected to him, that we must commence a new
chapter, in order to relate it.




Chapter XIII.



"The merry homes of England!
Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!
There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told,
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old."

Mrs. Hemans.


The peak, or highest part of the island, was at its northern extremity,
and within two miles of the grove in which Mark Woolston had eaten his
dinner. Unlike most of the plain, it had no woods whatever, but rising
somewhat abruptly to a considerable elevation, it was naked of
everything but grass. On the peak itself, there was very little of the
last even, and it was obvious that it must command a full view of the
whole plain of the island, as well as of the surrounding sea, for a wide
distance. Resuming his pack, our young adventurer, greatly refreshed by
the delicious repast he had just made, left the pleasant grove in which
he had first rested, to undertake this somewhat sharp acclivity. He was
not long in effecting it, however, standing on the highest point of his
new discovery within an hour after he had commenced its ascent.

Here, Mark found all his expectations realized touching the character of
the view. The whole plain of the island, with the exceptions of the
covers made by intervening woods, lay spread before him like a map. All
its beauties, its shades, its fruits, and its verdant glades, were
placed beneath his eye, as if purposely to delight him with their
glories. A more enchanting rural scene the young man had never beheld,
the island having so much the air of cultivation and art about it, that
he expected, at each instant, to see bodies of men running across its
surface. He carried the best glass of the Rancocus with him, in all his
excursions, not knowing at what moment Providence might bring a vessel
in sight, and he had it now slung from his shoulders. With this glass,
therefore, was every part of the visible surface of the island swept, in
anxious and almost alarmed search for the abodes of inhabitants. Nothing
of this sort, however, could be discovered. The island was
unquestionably without a human being, our young man alone excepted. Nor
could he see any trace of beast, reptile, or of any animal but birds.
Creatures gifted with wings had been able to reach that little paradise;
but to all others, since it first arose from the sea, had it probably
been unapproached, if not unapproachable, until that day. It appeared to
be the very Elysium of Birds!

Mark next examined the peak itself. There was a vast deposit of very
ancient guano on it, the washings of which for ages, had doubtless
largely contributed to the great fertility of the plain below. A stream
of more size than one would expect to find on so small an island,
meandered through the plain, and could be traced to a very copious
spring that burst from the earth at the base of the peak. Ample as this
spring was, however, it could never of itself have supplied the water of
the brook, or rivulet, which received the contributions of some fifty
other springs, that reached it in rills, as it wound its way down the
gently inclined plane of the island. At one point, about two leagues
from the Peak, there was actually a little lake visible, and Mark could
even trace its outlet, winding its way beyond it. He supposed that the
surplus tumbled into the sea in a cascade.

It will readily be imagined that our young man turned his glass to the
northward, in search of the group he had left that morning, with a most
lively interest. It was easy enough to see it from the great elevation
at which he was now placed. There it lay, stretched far and wide,
extending nearly a degree of latitude, north and south, and another of
longitude, east and west, most truly resembling a vast dark-looking map,
spread upon the face of the waters for his special examination. It
reminded Mark of the moon, with its ragged outlines of imaginary
continents, as seen by the naked eye, while the island he was now on,
bore a fancied resemblance to the same object viewed through a
telescope; not that it had the look of molten silver which is observed
in the earth's satellite, but that it appeared gloriously bright and
brilliant. Mark could easily see many of the sheets of water that were
to be found among the rocks, though his naked eye could distinguish
neither crater nor ship. By the aid of the glass, however, the first was
to be seen, though the distance was too great to leave the poor deserted
Rancocus visible, even with the assistance of magnifying-glasses.

When he had taken a good look at his old possessions, Mark made a sweep
of the horizon with the glass, in order to ascertain if any other land
were visible, from the great elevation on which he now stood. While
arranging the focus of the instrument, an object first met his eye that
caused his heart almost to leap into his mouth. Land was looming up, in
the western board, so distinctly as to admit of no cavil about its
presence. It was an island, mountainous, and Mark supposed it must be
fully a hundred miles distant. Still it was land, and strange land, and
might prove to be the abode of human beings. The glass told him very
little more than his eye, though he could discern a mountainous form
through it, and saw that it was an island of no great size. Beyond this
mountain, again, the young man fancied that he could detect the haze of
more land; but, if he did, it was too low, too distant, and too
indistinct, to be certain of it. It is not easy to give a clear idea of
the tumult of feeling with which Mark Woolston beheld these unknown
regions, though it might best be compared with the emotions of the
astronomer who discovers a new planet. It would scarce exceed the truth
to say that he regarded that dim, blue mountain, which arose in the
midst of a watery waste, with as much of admiration, mysterious awe and
gratification united, as Herschel may have been supposed to feel when he
established the character of Uranus. It was fully an hour before our
hermit could turn his eyes in any other direction.

And when our young mariner did look aside, it was more with the
intention of relieving eyes that had grown dim with gazing, than of not
returning to the same objects again, as soon as restored to their power.
It was while walking to and fro on the peak, with this intent, that a
new subject of interest caused him almost to leap into the air, and to
shout aloud. He saw a sail! For the first time since Betts disappeared
from his anxious looks, his eyes now surely rested on a vessel. What was
more, it was quite near the island he was on, and seemed to be beating
up to get under its lee. It appeared but a speck on the blue waves of
the ocean, seen from that height, it is true; but Mark was too well
practised in his craft to be mistaken. It was a vessel, under more or
less canvas, how much he could not then tell, or even see--but it was
most decidedly a vessel. Mark's limbs trembled so much that he was
compelled to throw himself upon the earth to find the support he wanted.
There he lay several minutes, mentally returning thanks to God for this
unexpected favour; and when his strength revived, these signs of
gratitude were renewed on his knees. Then he arose, almost in terror
lest the vessel should have disappeared, or it should turn out that he
was the subject of a cruel illusion.

There was no error. There was the little white speck, and he levelled
the glass to get a better look at it. An exclamation now clearly broke
from his lips, and for a minute or two the young man actually appeared
to be out of his senses. "The pinnace," "the Neshamony," however, were
words that escaped him, and, had there been a witness, might have given
an insight into this extraordinary conduct. Mark had, in fact,
ascertained that the sail beneath the peak was no other than the little
craft that had been swept away, as already described, with Betts in it.
Fourteen months had elapsed since that occurrence, and here it was
again, seemingly endeavouring to return to the place where it had been
launched! Mark adopted perhaps the best expedient in his power to
attract attention to himself, and to let his presence be known. He fired
both barrels of his fowling-piece, and repeated the discharges several
times, or until a flag was shown on board the sloop, which was now just
beneath the cliff, a certain sign that he had succeeded. A musket was
also fired from the vessel.