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The Crater by James Fenimore Cooper

J >> James Fenimore Cooper >> The Crater




The mound, or barrier of lava and scoriae that composed the outer wall of
this crater, was almost mathematically circular. Its inner precipice was
in most places absolutely perpendicular, though overhanging in a few;
there being but two or three spots where an active man could descend in
safety. The area within might contain a hundred acres while the wall
preserved a very even height of about sixty feet, falling a little below
this at the leeward side, where there existed one narrow hole, or
passage, on a level with the bottom of the crater; a sort of gateway, by
which to enter and quit the cavity. This passage had no doubt been
formed by the exit of lava, which centuries ago had doubtless broken
through at this point, and contributed to form the visible reef beyond.
The height of this hole was some twenty feet, having an arch above it,
and its width may have been thirty. When Mark got to it, which he did by
descending the wall of the crater, not without risk to his neck, he
found the surface of the crater very even and unbroken, with the
exception of its having a slight descent from its eastern to its western
side; or from the side opposite to the outlet, or gateway, to the
gateway itself. This inclination Mark fancied was owing to the
circumstance that the water of the ocean had formerly entered at the
hole, in uncommonly high tides and tempests, and washed the ashes which
had once formed the bottom of the crater, towards the remote parts of
the plain. These ashes had been converted by time into a soft, or
friable rock, composing a stone that is called tufa. If there had ever
been a cone in the crater, as was probably the case, it had totally
disappeared under the action of time and the wear of the seasons. Rock,
however, the bed of the crater could scarcely be yet considered, though
it had a crust which bore the weight of a man very readily, in nearly
every part of it. Once or twice Mark broke through, as one would fall
through rotten ice, when he found his shoes covered with a light dust
that much resembled ashes. In other places he broke this crust on
purpose, always finding beneath it a considerable depth of ashes,
mingled with some shells, and a few small stones.

That the water sometimes flowed into this crater was evident by a
considerable deposit of salt, which marked the limits of the latest of
these floods. This salt had probably prevented vegetation. The water,
however, never could have entered from the sea, had not the lava which
originally made the outlet left a sort of channel that was lower than
the surface of the outer rocks. It might be nearer to the real character
of the phenomenon were we to say, that the lava which had broken through
the barrier at this point, and tumbled into the sea, had not quite
filled the channel which it rather found than formed, when it ceased to
flow. Cooling in that form, an irregular crevice was left, through which
the element no doubt still occasionally entered, when the adjacent ocean
got a sufficient elevation. Mark observed that, from some cause or
other, the birds avoided the crater. It really seemed to him that their
instincts warned them of the dangers that had once environed the place,
and that, to use the language of sailors, "they gave it a wide berth,"
in consequence. Whatever may have been the cause, such was the fact; few
even flying over it, though they were to be seen in hundreds, in the air
all round it.




Chapter V.


"The king's son have I landed by himself;
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs
In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,
His arms in this sad knot."

_Tempest._


Having completed this first examination of the crater, Mark and Bob next
picked their way again to the summit of its wall, and took their seats
directly over the arch. Here they enjoyed as good a look-out as the
little island afforded, not only of its own surface, but of the
surrounding ocean. Mark now began to comprehend the character of the
singular geological formation, into the midst of which the Rancocus had
been led, as it might almost be by the hand of Providence itself. He was
at that moment seated on the topmost pinnacle of a submarine mountain of
volcanic origin--submarine as to all its elevations, heights and spaces,
with the exception of the crater where he had just taken his stand, and
the little bit of visible and venerable lava, by which it was
surrounded. It is true that this lava rose very near the surface of the
ocean, in fifty places that he could see at no great distance, forming
the numberless breakers that characterized the place; but, with the
exception of Mark's Reef, as Bob named the principal island on the spot,
two or three detached islets within a cable's-length of it, and a few
little more remote, the particular haunts of birds, no other land was
visible, far or near.

As Mark sat there, on that rock of concrete ashes, he speculated on the
probable extent of the shoals and reefs by which he was surrounded.
Judging by what he then saw, and recalling the particulars of the
examination made from the cross-trees of the ship, he supposed that the
dangers and difficulties of the navigation must extend, in an east and
west direction, at least twelve marine leagues; while, in a north and
south, the distance seemed to be a little, and a very little less. There
was necessarily a good deal of conjecture in this estimate of the extent
of the volcanic mountain which composed these extensive shoals; but,
from what he saw, from the distance the ship was known to have run amid
the dangers before she brought up, her present anchorage, the position
of the island, and all the other materials before him to make his
calculation on, Mark believed himself rather to have lessened than to
have exaggerated the extent of these shoals. Had the throes of the
earth, which produced this submerged rock, been a little more powerful,
a beautiful and fertile island, of very respectable dimensions, would
probably have been formed in its place.

From the time of reaching the reef, which is now to bear his name in all
future time, our young seaman had begun to admit the bitter possibility
of being compelled to pass the remainder of his days on it. How long he
and his companion could find the means of subsistence in a place so
barren, was merely matter of conjecture; but so long as Providence
should furnish these means, was it highly probable that solitary and
little-favoured spot was to be their home. It is unnecessary to state
with what bitter regrets the young bridegroom admitted this painful
idea; but Mark was too manly and resolute to abandon himself to despair,
even at such a moment. He kept his sorrows pent up in the repository of
his own bosom, and endeavoured to imitate the calm exterior of his
companion. As for Bob, he was a good deal of a philosopher by nature
and, having made up his mind that they were doomed to 'Robinson Crusoe
it,' for a few years at least, he was already turning over in his
thoughts the means of doing so to the best advantage. Under such
circumstances, and with such feelings, it is not at all surprising that
their present situation and their future prospects soon became the
subject of discourse, between these two solitary seamen.

"We are fairly in for it, Mr. Mark," said Bob, "and differ from Robinson
only in the fact that there are two of us; whereas he was obliged to set
up for himself, and by himself, until he fell in with Friday!"

"I wish I could say _that_ was the only difference in our conditions,
Betts, but it is very far from being so. In the first place he had an
island, while we have little more than a reef; he had soil, while we
have naked rock; he had fresh water, and we have none; he had trees,
while we have not even a spear of grass. All these circumstances make
out a case most desperately against us."

"You speak truth, sir; yet is there light ahead. We have a ship, sound
and tight as the day she sailed; while Robinson lost his craft under his
feet. As long as there is a plank afloat, a true salt never gives up."

"Ay, Bob, I feel that, as strongly as you can yourself; nor do I mean to
give up, so long as there is reason to think God has not entirely
deserted us. But that ship is of no use, in the way of returning to our
friends and home; or, of no use as a ship. The power of man could
scarcely extricate her from the reefs around her."

"It's a bloody bad berth," said Bob, squirting the saliva of his tobacco
half-way down the wall of the crater, "that I must allow. Howsomever,
the ship will be of use in a great many ways, Mr. Mark, if we can keep
her afloat, even where she is. The water that's in her will last us two
a twelvemonth, if we are a little particular about it; and when the
rainy season sets in, as the rainy season will be sure to do in this
latitude, we can fill up for a fresh start. Then the ship will be a
house for us to live in, and a capital good house, too. You can live
aft, sir, and I'll take my swing in the forecastle, just as if nothing
had happened."

"No, no, Bob; there is an end of all such distinctions now. Misery, like
the grave, brings all upon a level. You and I commenced as messmates,
and we are likely to end as messmates. There is a use to which the ship
may be put, however, that you have not mentioned, and to which we must
look forward as our best hope for this world. She may be broken up by
us, and we may succeed in building a craft large enough to navigate
these mild seas, and yet small enough to be taken through, or over the
reefs. In _that_ way, favoured by Divine Providence, we may live to see
our friends again."

"Courage, Mr. Mark, courage, sir. I know it must be hard on the feelin's
of a married man, like yourself, that has left a parfect pictur' behind
him, to believe he is never to return to his home again. But I don't
believe that such is to be our fate. I never heard of such an end to a
Crusoe party. Even Robinson, himself, got off at last, and had a
desperate hard journey of it, after he hauled his land-tacks aboard. I
like that idee of the new craft 'specially well, and will lend a hand to
help you through with it with all my heart. I'm not much of a carpenter,
it's true; nor do I suppose you are anything wonderful with the
broad-axe and adze; but two willing and stout men, who has got their
lives to save, can turn their hands to almost anything. For my part,
sir, since I _was_ to be wrecked and to Robinson it awhile, I'm
gratefully thankful that I've got you for a companion, that's all!"

Mark smiled at this oblique compliment, but he felt well assured that
Bob meant all for the best. After a short pause, he resumed the
discourse by saying--

"I have been thinking, Bob, of the possibility of getting the ship
safely down as far as this island. Could we but place her to leeward of
that last reef off the weather end of the island, she might lie there
years, or until she fell to pieces by decay. If we are to attempt
building a decked boat, or anything large enough to ride out a gale in,
we shall want more room than the ship's decks to set it up in. Besides,
we could never get a craft of those dimensions off the ship's decks, and
must, of necessity, build it in some place where it may be launched. Our
dingui would never do to be moving backward and forward, so great a
distance, for it will carry little more than ourselves. All things
considered, therefore, I am of opinion we can do nothing better to begin
with, than to try to get the ship down here, where we have room, and may
carry out our plans to some advantage."

Bob assented at once to this scheme, and suggested one or two ideas in
approbation of it, that were new even to Mark. Thus, it was evident to
both, that if the ship herself were ever to get clear of the reef, it
must be by passing out to leeward; and by bringing her down to the
island so much would be gained on the indispensable course. Thus, added
Bob, she might be securely moored in the little bay to windward of the
island; and, in the course of time it was possible that by a thorough
examination of the channels to the westward, and by the use of buoys, a
passage might be found, after all, that would carry them out to sea.
Mark had little hope of ever getting the Rancocus extricated from the
maze of rocks into which she had so blindly entered, and where she
probably never could have come but by driving over some of them; but he
saw many advantages in this plan of removing the ship, that increased in
number and magnitude the more he thought on the subject. Security to the
fresh water was one great object to be attained. Should it come on to
blow, and the ship drift down upon the rocks to leeward of her, she
would probably go to pieces in an hour or two, when not only all the
other ample stores that she contained, but every drop of sweet water at
the command of the two seamen, would inevitably be lost. So important
did it appear to Mark to make sure of a portion of this great essential,
at least, that he would have proposed towing down to the reef, or
island, a few casks, had the dingui been heavy enough to render such a
project practicable. After talking over these several points still more
at large, Mark and Bob descended from the summit of the crater, made
half of its circuit, and returned to their boat.

As the day continued calm, Mark was in no hurry, but passed half an hour
in sounding the little bay that was formed by the sunken rocks that lay
off the eastern, or weather end of the Crater Reef, as, in a spirit of
humility, he insisted on calling that which everybody else now calls
Mark's Reef. Here he not only found abundance of water for all he
wanted, but to his surprise he also found a sandy bottom, formed no
doubt by the particles washed from the surrounding rocks under the
never-ceasing abrasion of the waves. On the submerged reef there were
only a few inches of water, and our mariners saw clearly that it was
possible to secure the ship in this basin, in a very effectual manner,
could they only have a sufficiency of good weather in which to do it.

After surveying the basin, itself, with sufficient care, Bob pulled the
dingui back towards the ship, Mark sounding as they proceeded. But two
difficulties were found between the points that it was so desirable to
bring in communication with each other. One of these difficulties
consisted in a passage between two lines of reef, that ran nearly
parallel for a quarter of a mile, and which were only half a
cable's-length asunder. There was abundance of water between these
reefs, but the difficulty was in the course, and in the narrowness of
the passage. Mark passed through the latter four several times, sounding
it, as it might be, foot by foot, and examining the bottom with the eye;
for, in that pellucid water, with the sun near the zenith, it was
possible to see two or three fathoms down, and nowhere did he find any
other obstacle than this just mentioned. Nor was any buoy necessary, the
water breaking over the southern end of the outer, and over the northern
end of the inner ledge, and nowhere else near by, thus distinctly noting
the very two points where it would be necessary to alter the course.

The second obstacle was much more serious than that just described. It
was a reef with a good deal of water over most of it; so much, indeed,
that the sea did not break unless in heavy gales, but not enough to
carry a ship like the Rancocus over, except in one, and that a very
contracted pass, of less than a hundred feet in width. This channel it
would be indispensably necessary to buoy, since a variation from the
true course of only a few fathoms would infallibly produce the loss of
the ship. All the rest of the distance was easily enough made by a
vessel standing down, by simply taking care not to run into visible
breakers.

Mark and Bob did not get back to the Rancocus until near three o'clock.
They found everything as they had left it, and the pigs, poultry and
goat, glad enough to see them, and beginning to want their victuals and
drink. The two first are to be found on board of every ship, but the
last is not quite so usual. Captain Crutchely had brought one along to
supply milk for his tea, a beverage that, oddly enough, stood second
only to grog in his favour. After Bob had attended to the wants of the
brute animals, he and Mark, again sat down on the windlass to make
another cold repast on broken meat--as yet, they had not the hearts to
cook anything. As soon as this homely meal was taken Mark placed a
couple of buoys in the dingui, with the pig-iron that was necessary to
anchor them, and proceeded to the spot on the reef, where it was
proposed to place them.

Our mariners were quite an hour in searching for the channel, and near
another in anchoring the buoys in a way to render the passage perfectly
safe. As soon as this was done, Bob pulled back to the ship, which was
less than a mile distant, as fast as he could, for there was every
appearance of a change of weather. The moment was one, now, that
demanded great coolness and decision. Not more than an hour of day
remained, and the question was whether to attempt to move the ship that
night, when the channel and its marks were all fresh in the minds of the
two seamen, and before the foul weather came, or to trust to the cable
that was down to ride out any blow that might happen. Mark, young as he
was, thought justly on most professional subjects. He knew that heavy
rollers would come in across the reef where the vessel then lay, and was
fearful that the cable would chafe and part, should it come on to blow
hard for four-and-twenty hours continually. These rollers, he also knew
by the observation of that day, were completely broken and dispersed on
the rocks, before they got down to the island, and he believed the
chances of safety much greater by moving the ship at once, than by
trying the fortune of another night, out where she then lay. Bob
submitted to this decision precisely as if Mark was still his officer,
and no sooner got his orders than he sprang from sail to sail, and rope
to rope, like a cat playing among the branches of some tree. In that
day, spensers were unknown, staysails doing their duty. Thus Bob loosed
the jib, main-topmast and mizen-staysails, and saw the spanker clear for
setting. While he was thus busied, Mark was looking to the stopper and
shank-painter of the sheet-anchor, which had been got ready to let go,
before Captain Crutchely was lost. He even succeeded in getting that
heavy piece of metal a cock-bill, without calling on Bob for assistance.

It was indeed time for them to be in a hurry; for the wind began to come
in puffs, the sun was sinking into a bank of clouds, and all along the
horizon to windward the sky looked dark and menacing. Once Mark changed
his mind, determining to hold on, and let go the sheet-anchor where he
was, should it become necessary; but a lull tempted him to proceed. Bob
shouted out that all was ready, and Mark lifted the axe with which he
was armed, and struck a heavy blow on the cable. That settled the
matter; an entire strand was separated, and three or four more blows
released the ship from her anchor. Mark now sprang to the jib-halliards,
assisting Bob to hoist the sail. This was no sooner done than he went
aft to the wheel, where he arrived in time to help the ship to fall off.
The spanker was next got out as well as two men could do it in a hurry,
and then Bob went forward to tend the jib-sheet, and to look out for the
buoys.

It was indispensable in such a navigation to make no mistake, and Mark
enjoined the utmost vigilance on his friend. Twenty times did he hail to
inquire if the buoys were to be seen, and at last he was gratified by an
answer in the affirmative.

"Keep her away, Mr. Mark--keep her away, you may, sir; we are well to
windward of the channel. Ay, that'll do, Mr. Woolston--that's your
beauty, sir. Can't you get a sight of them b'ys yourself, sir?"

"Not just yet, Bob, and so much the greater need that you should look
out the sharper. Give the ship plenty of room, and I'll let her run down
for the passage, square for the channel."

Bob now ran aft, telling the mate he had better go on the forecastle
himself and conn the ship through the passage, which was a place he did
not like. Mark was vexed that the change should be made just at that
critical instant, but bounding forward, he was between the knight-heads
in half a minute, looking out for the buoys. At first, he could not see
them; and then he most felt the imprudence of Bob's quitting his post in
such a critical instant. In another minute, however, he found one; and
presently the other came in sight, fearfully close, as, it now appeared
to our young mariner, to its neighbour. The position of the ship,
nevertheless, was sufficiently to windward, leaving plenty of room to
keep off in. As soon as the ship was far enough ahead, Mark called out
to Bob to put his helm hard up. This was done, and away the Rancocus
went, Mark watching her with the utmost vigilance, lest she should
sheer a little too much to the one side or to the other. He hardly
breathed as the vessel glided down upon these two black sentinels, and,
for an instant, he fancied the wind or the current had interfered with
their positions. It was now too late, however, to attempt any change,
and Mark saw the ship surging onward on the swells of the ocean, which
made their way thus far within the reefs, with a greater intensity of
anxiety than he had ever before experienced in his life. Away went the
ship, and each time she settled in the water, our young man expected to
hear her keel grating on the bottom, but it did not touch. Presently the
buoys were on her quarters, and then Mark knew that the danger of this
one spot was passed!

The next step was to find the southern end of the outer ledge that
formed the succeeding passage. This was not done until the ship was
close aboard of it. A change had come over the spot within the last few
hours, in consequence of the increase of wind, the water breaking all
along the ledge, instead of on its end only; but Mark cared not for
this, once certain he had found that end. He was now half-way between
his former anchorage and the crater, and he could distinguish the latter
quite plainly. But sail was necessary to carry the ship safely through
the channel ahead, and Mark called to Bob to lash the helm a-midships
after luffing up to his course, and to spring to the main-topmast
staysail halliards, and help him hoist the sail. This was soon done, and
the new sail was got up, and the sheet hauled aft. Next followed the
mizen staysail, which was spread in the same manner. Bob then flew to
the wheel, and Mark to his knight-heads again. Contrary to Mark's
apprehensions, he saw that the ship was luffing up close to the weather
ledge, leaving little danger of her going on to it. As soon as met by
the helm, however, she fell off, and Mark no longer had any doubt of
weathering the northern end of the inner ledge of this passage. The wind
coming in fresher puffs, this was soon done, when the ship was kept dead
away for the crater. There was the northern end of the reef, which
formed the inner basin of all, to double, when that which remained to do
was merely to range far enough within the reef to get a cover, and to
drop the anchor. In order to do this with success, Mark now commenced
hauling down the jib. By the time he had that sail well in, the ship was
off the end of the sunken reef, when Bob put his helm a-starboard and
rounded it. Down came the main-topmast staysail, and Mark jumped on the
forecastle, while he called out to Bob to lash the helm a-lee. In an
instant Bob was at the young man's side, and both waited for the ship to
luff into the wind, and to forge as near as possible to the reef. This
was successfully done also, and Mark let go the stopper within twenty
feet of the wall of the sunken reef, just as the ship began to drive
astern. The canvas was rolled up and secured, the cable payed out, until
the ship lay just mid-channel between the island and the sea-wall
without, and the whole secured. Then Bob took off his tarpaulin and gave
three cheers, while Mark walked aft, silently returning thanks to God
for the complete success of this important movement.

Important most truly was this change. Not only was the ship anchored,
with her heaviest anchor down, and her best cable out, in good holding
ground, and in a basin where very little swell ever penetrated, and that
entering laterally and diminished in force; but there she was within a
hundred and fifty feet of the island, at all times accessible by means
of the dingui, a boat that it would not do to trust in the water at all
outside when it blew in the least fresh. In short, it was scarcely
possible to have a vessel in a safer berth, so long as her spars and
hull were exposed to the gales of the ocean, or one that was more
convenient to those who used the island. By getting down her spars and
other hamper, the power of the winds would be much lessened, though Mark
felt little apprehension of the winds at that season of the year, so
long as the sea could not make a long rake against the vessel. He
believed the ship safe for the present, and felt the hope of still
finding a passage, through the reef to leeward, reviving in his breast.