CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Notable discovery at the spouting cliffs—The mysterious green monster explained—We are thrown into unutterable terror by the idea that Jack is drowned—The diamond cave.
“Come, Jack,” cried Peterkin one morning about three weeks after our return from our long excursion, “let’s be jolly to-day, and do something vigorous. I’m quite tired of hammering and bammering, hewing and screwing, cutting and butting at that little boat of ours, that seems as hard to build as Noah’s ark. Let us go on an excursion to the mountain-top, or have a hunt after the wild ducks, or make a dash at the pigs. I’m quite flat—flat as bad ginger-beer—flat as a pancake; in fact, I want something to rouse me—to toss me up, as it were. Eh! what do you say to it?”
“Well,” answered Jack, throwing down the axe with which he was just about to proceed towards the boat, “if that’s what you want, I would recommend you to make an excursion to the waterspouts. The last one we had to do with tossed you up a considerable height; perhaps the next will send you higher—who knows?—if you’re at all reasonable or moderate in your expectations!”
“Jack, my dear boy,” said Peterkin gravely, “you are really becoming too fond of jesting. It’s a thing I don’t at all approve of; and if you don’t give it up, I fear that, for our mutual good, we shall have to part.”
“Well, then, Peterkin,” replied Jack with a smile, “what would you have?”
“Have?” said Peterkin. “I would have nothing. I didn’t say I wanted to have; I said that I wanted to do.”
“By the bye,” said I, interrupting their conversation, “I am reminded by this that we have not yet discovered the nature of yon curious appearance that we saw near the waterspouts on our journey round the island. Perhaps it would be well to go for that purpose.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Peterkin, “I know the nature of it well enough.”
“What was it?” said I.
“It was of a mysterious nature, to be sure!” said he with a wave of his hand, while he rose from the log on which he had been sitting and buckled on his belt, into which he thrust his enormous club.
“Well, then, let us away to the waterspouts,” cried Jack, going up to the bower for his bow and arrows.—“And bring your spear, Peterkin; it may be useful.”
We now, having made up our minds to examine into this matter, sallied forth eagerly in the direction of the waterspout rocks, which, as I have before mentioned, were not far from our present place of abode. On arriving there we hastened down to the edge of the rocks and gazed over into the sea, where we observed the pale-green object still distinctly visible, moving its tail slowly to and fro in the water.
“Most remarkable!” said Jack.
“Exceedingly curious!” said I.
“Beats everything!” said Peterkin.—“Now, Jack,” he added, “you made such a poor figure in your last attempt to stick that object that I would advise you to let me try it. If it has got a heart at all, I’ll engage to send my spear right through the core of it; if it hasn’t got a heart, I’ll send it through the spot where its heart ought to be.”
“Fire away, then, my boy,” replied Jack with a laugh.
Peterkin immediately took the spear, poised it for a second or two above his head, then darted it like an arrow into the sea. Down it went straight into the centre of the green object, passed quite through it, and came up immediately afterwards, pure and unsullied, while the mysterious tail moved quietly as before!
“Now,” said Peterkin gravely, “that brute is a heartless monster; I’ll have nothing more to do with it.”
“I’m pretty sure now,” said Jack, “that it is merely a phosphoric light; but I must say I’m puzzled at its staying always in that exact spot.”
I also was much puzzled, and inclined to think with Jack that it must be phosphoric light, of which luminous appearance we had seen much while on our voyage to these seas. “But,” said I, “there is nothing to hinder us from diving down to it, now that we are sure it is not a shark.”
“True,” returned Jack, stripping off his clothes. “I’ll go down, Ralph, as I’m better at diving than you are.—Now, then, Peterkin, out o’ the road!” Jack stepped forward, joined his hands above his head, bent over the rocks, and plunged into the sea. For a second or two the spray caused by his dive hid him from view; then the water became still, and we saw him swimming far down in the midst of the green object. Suddenly he sank below it, and vanished altogether from our sight! We gazed anxiously down at the spot where he had disappeared for nearly a minute, expecting every moment to see him rise again for breath; but fully a minute passed and still he did not reappear. Two minutes passed! and then a flood of alarm rushed in upon my soul when I considered that, during all my acquaintance with him, Jack had never stayed under water more than a minute at a time—indeed, seldom so long.
“Oh Peterkin!” I said in a voice that trembled with increasing anxiety, “something has happened. It is more than three minutes now.” But Peterkin did not answer; and I observed that he was gazing down into the water with a look of intense fear mingled with anxiety, while his face was overspread with a deadly paleness. Suddenly he sprang to his feet and rushed about in a frantic state, wringing his hands, and exclaiming, “Oh Jack! Jack! He is gone! It must have been a shark, and he is gone for ever!”
For the next five minutes I know not what I did; the intensity of my feelings almost bereft me of my senses. But I was recalled to myself by Peterkin seizing me by the shoulders and staring wildly into my face, while he exclaimed, “Ralph! Ralph! perhaps he has only fainted! Dive for him, Ralph!”
It seemed strange that this did not occur to me sooner. In a moment I rushed to the edge of the rocks, and without waiting to throw off my garments, was on the point to spring into the waves when I observed something black rising up through the green object. In another moment Jack’s head rose to the surface, and he gave a wild shout, flinging back the spray from his locks, as was his wont after a dive. Now we were almost as much amazed at seeing him reappear, well and strong, as we had been at first at his non-appearance; for, to the best of our judgment, he had been nearly ten minutes under water—perhaps longer—and it required no exertion of our reason to convince us that this was utterly impossible for mortal man to do and retain his strength and faculties. It was, therefore, with a feeling akin to superstitious awe that I held down my hand and assisted him to clamber up the steep rocks. But no such feeling affected Peterkin. No sooner did Jack gain the rocks and seat himself on one, panting for breath, than he threw his arms round his neck and burst into a flood of tears. “Oh Jack! Jack!” said he, “where were you? What kept you so long?”
After a few moments Peterkin became composed enough to sit still and listen to Jack’s explanation, although he could not restrain himself from attempting to wink every two minutes at me in order to express his joy at Jack’s safety. I say he attempted to wink, but I am bound to add that he did not succeed; for his eyes were so much swollen with weeping that his frequent attempts only resulted in a series of violent and altogether idiotical contortions of the face, that were very far from expressing what he intended. However, I knew what the poor fellow meant by