The Coral Island, Robert Michael Ballantyne [inspirational novels .TXT] 📗
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ourselves.
I afterwards found that there were many such caverns among the
islands of the South Seas, some of them larger and more beautiful
than the one I have just described.
“Now, Ralph, are you ready?” said Jack, in a low voice, that seemed
to echo up into the dome above.
“Quite ready.”
“Come along, then,” said he; and, plunging off the ledge of the
rock into the water, we dived through the narrow entrance. In a
few seconds we were panting on the rocks above, and receiving the
congratulations of our friend Peterkin.
CHAPTER XIV.
Strange peculiarity of the tides - Also of the twilight -
Peterkin’s remarkable conduct in embracing a little pig and killing
a big sow - Sage remarks on jesting - Also on love.
IT was quite a relief to us to breathe the pure air and to enjoy
the glad sunshine after our long ramble in the Diamond Cave, as we
named it; for, although we did not stay more than half an hour
away, it seemed to us much longer. While we were dressing, and
during our walk home, we did our best to satisfy the curiosity of
poor Peterkin, who seemed to regret, with lively sincerity, his
inability to dive.
There was no help for it, however, so we condoled with him as we
best could. Had there been any great rise or fall in the tide of
these seas, we might perhaps have found it possible to take him
down with us at low water; but as the tide never rose or fell more
than eighteen inches or two feet, this was impossible.
This peculiarity of the tide - its slight rise and fall - had not
attracted our observation till some time after our residence on the
island. Neither had we observed another curious circumstance until
we had been some time there. This was the fact, that the tide rose
and fell with constant regularity, instead of being affected by the
changes of the moon as in our own country, and as it is in most
other parts of the world, - at least in all those parts with which
I am acquainted. Every day and every night, at twelve o’clock
precisely, the tide is at the full; and at six o’clock every
morning and evening it is ebb. I can speak with much confidence on
this singular circumstance, as we took particular note of it, and
never found it to alter. Of course, I must admit, we had to guess
the hour of twelve midnight, and I think we could do this pretty
correctly; but in regard to twelve noon we are quite positive,
because we easily found the highest point that the sun reached in
the sky by placing ourselves at a certain spot whence we observed
the sharp summit of a cliff resting against the sky, just where the
sun passed.
Jack and I were surprised that we had not noticed this the first
few days of our residence here, and could only account for it by
our being so much taken up with the more obvious wonders of our
novel situation. I have since learned, however, that this want of
observation is a sad and very common infirmity of human nature,
there being hundreds of persons before whose eyes the most
wonderful things are passing every day, who nevertheless are
totally ignorant of them. I therefore have to record my sympathy
with such persons, and to recommend to them a course of conduct
which I have now for a long time myself adopted, - namely, the
habit of forcing my attention upon ALL things that go on around me,
and of taking some degree of interest in them, whether I feel it
naturally or not. I suggest this the more earnestly, though
humbly, because I have very frequently come to know that my
indifference to a thing has generally been caused by my ignorance
in regard to it.
We had much serious conversation on this subject of the tides; and
Jack told us, in his own quiet, philosophical way, that these tides
did great good to the world in many ways, particularly in the way
of cleansing the shores of the land, and carrying off the filth
that was constantly poured into the sea there-from; which, Peterkin
suggested, was remarkably TIDY of it to do. Poor Peterkin could
never let slip an opportunity to joke, however inopportune it might
be: which at first we found rather a disagreeable propensity, as
it often interrupted the flow of very agreeable conversation; and,
indeed, I cannot too strongly record my disapprobation of this
tendency in general: but we became so used to it at last that we
found it no interruption whatever; indeed, strange to say, we came
to feel that it was a necessary part of our enjoyment (such is the
force of habit), and found the sudden outbursts of mirth, resulting
from his humorous disposition, quite natural and refreshing to us
in the midst of our more serious conversations. But I must not
misrepresent Peterkin. We often found, to our surprise, that he
knew many things which we did not; and I also observed that those
things which he learned from experience were never forgotten. From
all these things I came at length to understand that things very
opposite and dissimilar in themselves, when united, do make an
agreeable whole; as, for example, we three on this our island,
although most unlike in many things, when united, made a trio so
harmonious that I question if there ever met before such an
agreeable triumvirate. There was, indeed, no note of discord
whatever in the symphony we played together on that sweet Coral
Island; and I am now persuaded that this was owing to our having
been all tuned to the same key, namely, that of LOVE! Yes, we
loved one another with much fervency while we lived on that island;
and, for the matter of that, we love each other still.
And while I am on this subject, or rather the subject that just
preceded it - namely, the tides - I may here remark on another
curious natural phenomenon. We found that there was little or no
twilight in this island. We had a distinct remembrance of the
charming long twilight at home, which some people think the most
delightful part of the day, though for my part I have always
preferred sunrise; and when we first landed, we used to sit down on
some rocky point or eminence, at the close of our day’s work, to
enjoy the evening breeze; but no sooner had the sun sunk below the
horizon than all became suddenly dark. This rendered it necessary
that we should watch the sun when we happened to be out hunting,
for to be suddenly left in the dark while in the woods was very
perplexing, as, although the stars shone with great beauty and
brilliancy, they could not pierce through the thick umbrageous
boughs that interlaced above our heads.
But, to return: After having told all we could to Peterkin about
the Diamond Cave under Spouting Cliff, as we named the locality, we
were wending our way rapidly homewards, when a grunt and a squeal
were borne down by the land breeze to our ears.
“That’s the ticket!” was Peterkin’s remarkable exclamation, as he
started convulsively, and levelled his spear.
“Hist!” cried Jack; “these are your friends, Peterkin. They must
have come over expressly to pay you a friendly visit, for it is the
first time we have seen them on this side the island.”
“Come along!” cried Peterkin, hurrying towards the wood, while Jack
and I followed, smiling at his impatience.
Another grunt and half a dozen squeals, much louder than before,
came down the valley. At this time we were just opposite the small
vale which lay between the Valley of the Wreck and Spouting Cliff.
“I say, Peterkin,” cried Jack, in a hoarse whisper.
“Well, what is’t?”
“Stay a bit, man. These grunters are just up there on the hill
side. If you go and stand with Ralph in the lee of yon cliff, I’ll
cut round behind and drive them through the gorge, so that you’ll
have a better chance of picking out a good one. Now, mind you
pitch into a fat young pig, Peterkin,” added Jack, as he sprang
into the bushes.
“Won’t I, just!” said Peterkin, licking his lips, as we took our
station beside the cliff. “I feel quite a tender affection for
young pigs in my heart. Perhaps it would be more correct to say in
my s-.”
“There they come!” cried I, as a terrific yell from Jack sent the
whole herd screaming down the hill. Now, Peterkin, being unable to
hold back, crept a short way up a very steep grassy mound, in order
to get a better view of the hogs before they came up; and just as
he raised his head above its summit, two little pigs, which had
outrun their companions, rushed over the top with the utmost
precipitation. One of these brushed close past Peterkin’s ear; the
other, unable to arrest its headlong flight, went, as Peterkin
himself afterwards expressed it, “bash” into his arms with a sudden
squeal, which was caused more by the force of the blow than the
will of the animal, and both of them rolled violently down to the
foot of the mound. No sooner was this reached than the little pig
recovered its feet, tossed up its tail, and fled shrieking from the
spot. But I slang a large stone after it, which, being fortunately
well aimed, hit it behind the ear, and felled it to the earth.
“Capital, Ralph! that’s your sort!” cried Peterkin, who, to my
surprise and great relief, had risen to his feet. Apparently
unhurt, though much dishevelled, he rushed franticly towards the
gorge, which the yells of the hogs told us they were now
approaching. I had made up my mind that I would abstain from
killing another, as, if Peterkin should be successful, two were
more than sufficient for our wants at the present time. Suddenly
they all burst forth, - two or three little round ones in advance,
and an enormous old sow with a drove of hogs at her heels.
“Now, Peterkin,” said I, “there’s a nice little fat one; just spear
it.”
But Peterkin did not move; he allowed it to pass unharmed. I
looked at him in surprise, and saw that his lips were compressed
and his eyebrows knitted, as if he were about to fight with some
awful enemy.
“What is it?” I inquired, with some trepidation.
Suddenly he levelled his spear, darted forward, and, with a yell
that nearly froze the blood in my veins, stabbed the old sow to the
heart. Nay, so vigorously was it done that the spear went in at
one side and came out at the other!
“Oh, Peterkin!” said I, going up to him, “what have you done?”
“Done? I’ve killed their great-great-grandmother, that’s all,”
said he, looking with a somewhat awe-struck expression at the
transfixed animal.
“Hallo! what’s this?” said Jack, as he came up. “Why, Peterkin,
you must be fond of a tough chop. If you mean to eat this old hog,
she’ll try your jaws, I warrant. What possessed you to stick HER,
Peterkin?”
“Why, the fact is I want a pair of shoes.”
“What have your shoes to do with the old hog?’ said I, smiling.
“My present shoes have certainly nothing to do with her,” replied
Peterkin; “nevertheless she will have a good deal to do with my
future shoes. The fact is, when I saw you floor that pig so
neatly, Ralph, it struck
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