The Hot Swamp

Agreeing to this arrangement, Bladud led his companions up the steep face of a cliff until a projecting ledge was reached, which was just wide enough to form a camping-ground with a perpendicular cliff at the back, and with its other sides so precipitous as to render the approach of enemies—whether two or four-legged—exceedingly difficult. By piling a few stones at the head of the path by which it was reached, they rendered it impossible for any one to approach without awakening the sleepers.

Bladud then, using his sword as a hatchet, chipped off some pieces of the plank, and directed his companions to cut away the wet parts of these and reduce the dry parts to shavings.

They obeyed this order in silence, and wonderingly, for a fire seemed useless, their encampment being well sheltered from the wind, and, as we have said, the weather was warm. By means of a cord, a rude bow, and a drill made of a piece of dry wood, their leader soon procured fire, and, in a few minutes, a bright flame illumined their persons and the cliff behind them.

As the shades of evening were falling by that time, the aspect of things was much improved by the change.

“Now, comrades,” said the prince, undoing the breast of his tunic, and drawing from either side a flat mass of dark substance that resembled old dried cow-hide, “we shall have supper, and then—to rest.”

“Dried meat!” exclaimed little Maikar, his eyes—and indeed his whole visage—blazing with delighted surprise.

“Right. Maikar. I knew that you would be hungry when we got ashore, so I caught up two pieces of meat and stuffed them into my breast just as we were leaving—one for Arkal and me; the other for you. It may not be quite enough, perhaps, but will do, I hope, to keep you quiet till morning.”

“Nay, I shall content me with my fair share, it I may claim a share at all of what I had no hand in procuring. It was wise of you to do this. How came you to think of it?”

“To say truth, I can lay claim to neither wisdom nor forethought,” answered the prince, dividing the food into equal portions. “The meat chanced to be lying close to my hand as I was about to leap into the sea. Had I seen it sooner, I would have advised all to take some in the same way. There, now, set to and cook it. For myself, I feel so sleepy that I’m half inclined to eat it raw.”

The jerked or dried meat which had been thus opportunely brought away, may be said to have been half cooked in the drying process, and indeed, was sometimes eaten in its dried condition, when it was inconvenient to cook it. In a few minutes, therefore, the supper was ready, and, in a few minutes more, it was disposed of—for strong jaws, sound teeth and good appetite make short work of victuals.

By that time the night had set in; the gale was moderating; the stars had come out, and there seemed every prospect of a speedy and favourable change in the weather. With darkness came the wolves and other creatures of the night, both furred and feathered. Against the former the party was protected by the steep ascent and the barricade, but the latter kept swooping down out of darkness, ever and anon, glaring at them for a moment with round inquiring eyes and sweeping off, as if affrighted, in unearthly silence.

Little heed was paid to these sights and sounds, however, by our adventurers, who were filled with sadness at the loss of their ship and comrades.

They spoke but little during the meal, and, after partially drying themselves, lay down with their feet towards the fire, and almost instantly fell asleep. Being trained to a hardy life, they did not feel the want of couch or covering, and healthy exhaustion prevented dreams from disturbing their repose.

Gradually the fire died down; the howling of the wolves ceased; the night-birds betook them to their haunts, and no sound was heard in or around the camp except the soft breathing of the sleepers and the booming of the distant waves.

Chapter Six

First Anxieties and Troubles

The day that followed the wreck was well advanced before the sleepers awakened.

Their first thoughts were those of thankfulness for having escaped with life. Then arose feelings of loneliness and sorrow at the sad fate of the crew of the Penelope, for though it was just possible that some of their comrades had reached the shore on the beach that extended to the westward, such an event was not very probable. Still the bare hope of this induced them to rise in haste. After a hurried breakfast on the remnants of the previous night’s supper, they proceeded along the coast for several miles, carefully searching the shores of every bay.

About noon they halted. A few scraps of the dried meat still remained, and on these they dined, sitting on a grassy slope, while they consulted as to their future proceedings.

“What is now to be done?” asked the captain of Bladud, after they had been seated in silence for some minutes.

“I would rather hear your opinion first,” returned his friend. “You must still continue to act as captain, for it is fitting that age should sit at the helm, while I will act the part of guide and forester, seeing that I am somewhat accustomed to woodcraft.”

“And the remainder of our band,” said little Maikar, wiping his mouth after finishing the last morsel, “will sit in judgment on your deliberations.”

“Be it so,” returned Bladud. “Wisdom, it is said, lies in small compass, so we should find it in you.”

Captain Arkal, whose knitted brows and downcast eyes showed that his thoughts were busy, looked up suddenly.

“It is not likely,” he said, “that any ships will come near this coast, for the gale has driven us far out of the usual track of trading ships, and there are no towns here, large or small, that I know of. It would be useless, therefore, to remain where we are in the hope of being picked up by a passing vessel. To walk back to our home in the east is next to impossible, for it is not only far distant, but there lie between us and Hellas far-reaching gulfs and bays, besides great mountain ranges, which have never yet been crossed, for their tops are in the clouds and covered, summer and winter, with eternal snow.”

“Then no hope remains to us,” said Maikar, with a sigh, “except to join ourselves to the wild people of the land—if there be any people at all in it—and live and die like savages.”

“Patience, Maikar, I have not yet finished.”

“Besides,” interpolated Bladud, “a wise judge never delivers an opinion until he has heard both sides of a question.”

“Now, from my knowledge of the lie of coast-lands, I feel sure that the Isles of the Cassiterides must lie there,” continued the captain, pointing westward, “and if we travel diligently, it is not unlikely that we shall come down upon the coast of this land almost opposite to them. There we may find, or perhaps make, a boat in which we could cross over—for the sea at that part is narrow, and the white cliffs of the land will be easily distinguished. Once there, I have no doubt that we shall find a ship belonging to one of my countrymen which will take Maikar and me back to our homes, while you, prince, will doubtless be able to return to your father’s court on foot.”

It will be seen from this speech that the Phoenician captain included the southern shore of England in his idea of the Cassiterides. His notion of the direction in which the islands lay, however, was somewhat incorrect, being founded partly on experience, but partly also on a misconception prevalent at the time that the islands referred to lay only a little way to the north of Spain.

“Your plan seems to me a good one,” said Bladud, after some thought, “but I cannot help thinking that you are not quite right in your notion as to the direction of the tin islands. When I left Albion, I kept a careful note of our daily runs—being somewhat curious on such points—and it is my opinion that they lie there.”

He pointed almost due north. The captain smiled and shook his head. Bladud looked at Maikar, who also smiled and shook his head.

“If you want my opinion,” said the little man, gravely, “it is that when two great, good and wise men differ so widely, it is more than likely the truth lies somewhere between them. In my judgment, therefore, the Cassiterides lie yonder.”

He pointed with an air of confidence in a north-west direction.

“It does seem to me,” said Bladud, “that Maikar is right, for as you and I seem to be equally confident in our views, captain, a middle course may be the safest. However, if you decide otherwise, I of course submit.”

“Nay,” returned the captain, “I will not abuse the power you have given me. Let us decide the matter by lot.”

“Ay, let us draw lots,” echoed Maikar, “and so shove the matter off our shoulders on to the shoulders of chance.”

“There is, there can be, no such thing as chance,” said Bladud in a soliloquising tone. “However, let it be as you wish. I recognise the justice of two voices overriding one.”

Lots were drawn accordingly, and the longest fell to the little seaman. Without further discussion, therefore, the course suggested by him was adopted.

“And now, comrades,” said the prince, rising and drawing his knife—which, like his sword, had been procured in Egypt, and was of white metal—“we must set to work to make bows and arrows, for animals are not wont to walk up to man and request to be killed and cooked, and it won’t be long before Maikar is shouting for food.”

“Sorry am I that the good javelin of my grandfather went down in the carcase of the pirate chief,” remarked the captain, also rising, “for it seems to me by the way you handled it, Bladud, that you could have killed deer with it as well as men.”

“I have killed deer with such before now, truly, but the arrow is handier and surer.”

“Ay, in a sure hand, with a good eye to direct it,” returned Arkal, “but I make no pretence to either. A ship, indeed, I can manage to hit—when I am cool, which is not often the case in a fight—and if there are men in it, my shafts are not quite thrown away, but as to deer, boars, and birds, I can make nothing of them. If I mistake not, Maikar is not much better than myself with the bow.”

“I am worse,” observed the little man quietly.

“Well then,” said Bladud, with a laugh, “you must make me hunter to the party.”

While conversing thus they had entered the forest, and soon found trees suitable to their purpose, from which they cut boughs,—using their swords as hatchets.

We have already shown that the prince had brought his sword, shield, and knife on shore with him. Captain Arkal and Maikar had also saved their swords and knives, these having been attached to their girdles at the time they leaped from the wreck. They were somewhat inferior weapons to those worn by Bladud, being made of bronze. The swords of the seamen, unlike that of the prince, were short and double-edged, shaped somewhat like those used long afterwards by the Romans, and they made up in weight for what they lacked in sharpness.

It did not take many hours for the party, under the direction of the prince, to form three strong and serviceable bows, with several arrows, the latter being feathered with dropped plumes, and shod with flint, according to the fashion of the times. Bowstrings had to be made at first out of the tough fibrous roots of a tree, split into threads and plaited together.

“Of course they are not so good as deer-sinews for the purpose,” remarked Bladud, stringing one of the bows and fitting an arrow to it, “but we must be content until we kill a deer or some other animal. Perhaps we shall have an opportunity soon.”

The remark seemed to have been prophetic, for, as the last word passed his lips, a fawn trotted out of a glade right in front of the party and stood as if paralysed with surprise. The captain and Maikar were reduced to much the same condition, for they made no attempt to use their bows.