Adrift in the Pacific-Two Years Holiday
ADRIFT IN THE PACIFIC:
Two Years Holiday
by
JULES VERNE
AUTHOR OF
THE CLIPPER OF THE CLOUDS,
. . .
THE VANISHED DIAMOND,
ETC.
SHE DRINKS! SHE DRINKS! EXCLAIMED DONAGAN AND IN AN INSTANT
HE WAS BY THE SIDE OF THE SEA AND DRINKING THE WATER THAT PAN SO MUCH ENJOYED.
IT WAS FRESH!
Adrift in the
Pacific:
Two
Years Holiday
by
Jules
Verne
Fredonia Books
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
ISBN:
1-4101-0215-7 Copyright © 2003 by Fredonia Books
Fredonia
Books Amsterdam, The Netherlands http: //www. fredoniabooks. com
All
rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions
thereof, in any form.
In
order to make original editions of historical works available to scholars at an
economical price, this facsimile of the original edition is reproduced from the
best available copy and has been digitally enhanced to improve legibility, but
the text remains unaltered to retain historical authenticity.
Contents
Adrift in the Pacific
PART I.
CHAPTER I—THE STORM.
CHAPTER II—THE WRECK
CHAPTER III—CAST ADRIFT
CHAPTER IV—THE FIRST DAY ASHORE
CHAPTER V—THE VIEW FROM THE CAPE.
CHAPTER VI—A SPELL OF RAIN.
CHAPTER VII—THE EXPLORERS.
CHAPTER VIII—THE CAVE.
CHAPTER IX—FRANÇOIS BAUDOIN.
CHAPTER X—THE RAFT.
CHAPTER XI—A CAPTURE.
CHAPTER XII—THE COLONY.
CHAPTER XIII—WINTER QUARTERS.
CHAPTER XIV—A JOURNEY NORTHWARDS.
CHAPTER XV—BRAVO, BAXTER!
END OF THE FIRST PART.
Part II
CHAPTER I—THE SEAL HUNT.
CHAPTER II—ACROSS THE LAKE.
CHAPTER III—THE NEW CHIEF.
CHAPTER IV—A SKATING ADVENTURE.
CHAPTER V—THE SEPARATION.
CHAPTER VI—THE BOAT OF THE BEACH.
CHAPTER VII—THE INVASION.
CHAPTER VIII—ALL TOGETHER.
CHAPTER IX—THE TAIL OF A KITE.
CHAPTER X—THE ENEMY IN SIGHT.
CHAPTER XI—A DARING ESCAPE.
CHAPTER XII—DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.
CHAPTER XIII—THE FORTUNE OF WAR.
CHAPTER XIV—AFLOAT ONCE MORE.
CHAPTER XV—HOME.
THE END.
It was the 9th of
March, 1860, and eleven o’clock at night. The sea and sky were as one, and the
eye could pierce but a few fathoms into the gloom. Through the raging sea, over
which the waves broke with a livid light, a little ship was driving under
almost bare poles.
She
was a schooner of a hundred tons. Her name was the Sleuth, but you would
have sought it in vain on her stern, for an accident of some sort had torn it
away.
In
this latitude, at the beginning of March, the nights are short. The day would
dawn about five o’clock. But would the dangers that threatened the schooner grow
less when the sun illumined the sky? Was not the frail vessel at the mercy of
the waves? undoubtedly; and only the calming of the billows and the lulling of
the gale could save her from that most awful of shipwrecks—foundering in the
open sea far from any coast on which the survivors might find safety.
In
the stern of the schooner were three boys, one about fourteen, the two others
about thirteen years of age; these, with a young negro some twelve years old,
were at the wheel, and, with their united strength, strove to check the lurches
which threatened every instant to throw the vessel broadside on. It was a
difficult task, for the wheel seemed as though it would turn in spite of all
they could do. and hurl them against the bulwarks. Just before midnight such a
wave came thundering against the stern that it was a wonder the rudder was not
unshipped. The boys were thrown backwards by the shock, but they recovered
themselves almost immediately.
‘Does
she still steer?’ asked one of them.
‘Yes,
Gordon,’ answered Briant, who had coolly resumed his place. ‘Hold on tight,
Donagan,’ he continued, ‘and don’t be afraid. There are others besides
ourselves to look after. You are not hurt, Moko?’
‘No,
Massa Briant,’ answered the boy. ‘But we must keep the yacht before the wind,
or we shall be pooped.’
At
this moment the door of the companion leading to the saloon was thrown open.
Two little heads appeared above the level of the deck, and with them came up
the genial face of a dog, who saluted with a loud, ‘Whough! whough!’
‘Briant!
Briant!’ shouted one of the youngsters.
‘What
is the matter?’
‘Nothing,
Iverson, nothing!’ returned Briant. ‘Get down again with Dole, and look sharp!’
‘We
are awfully frightened down here,’ said the other boy, who was a little
younger.
‘All
of you?’ asked Donagan.
‘Yes;
all of us!’ said Dole.
‘Well,
get back again,’ said Briant. ‘Shut up; get under the clothes; shut your eyes;
and nothing will hurt you. There is no danger!‘
‘Look
out,’ said Moko. ‘Here’s another wave!’
A
violent blow shook the yacht’s stern. This time fortunately the wave did not
come on board, for if the water had swept down the companion, the yacht would
have been swamped.
‘Get
back, will you?’ shouted Gordon. ‘Go down; or I’ll come after you!’
‘Look
here,’ said Briant, rather more gently. ‘Go down, you young ‘uns.’
The
two heads disappeared, and at the same moment another boy appeared in the
doorway.
‘Do
you want us, Briant?’
‘No,
Baxter,’ said Briant. ‘Let you and Cross and Webb and Service and Wilcox stop
with the little ones! We four can manage.’
Baxter
shut the door from within.
‘Yes,
all of us,’ Dole had said.
But
were there only little boys on board this schooner thus driven before the
storm? Yes, only boys! And how many were there? Fifteen, counting Gordon,
Briant, Donagan, and the negro. How came they to be here? That you shall know
shortly.
Was
there not a man on the yacht? Not a captain to look after it? Not a sailor to
give a hand in its management? Not a helmsman to steer in such a storm? No! Not
one!
And
more than that—there was not a person on board who knew the schooner’s position
on the ocean! And what ocean? The largest of all, the Pacific, which stretches
for 6,000 miles from Australia and New Zealand to the coast of South America.
What,
then, had happened? Had the schooner’s crew disappeared in some catastrophe? Had
the Malay pirates carried them off and left on board only this batch of boys
from fourteen downwards? A yacht of a hundred tons ought to have a captain, a
mate, and five or six men, and of these all that had been left was the nigger
boy!
Where
did the schooner come from? From what Australian port or Oceanic archipelago
did she hail? How long had she been at sea? Whither was she bound? The boys
would probably have been able to answer these questions had they been asked
them by any captain speaking the schooner on her course; but there was no
vessel in sight, neither steamer nor sailing-ship, and had there been one, she
would have had quite enough to do to look after herself, without giving
assistance to this yacht that the sea was throwing about like a raft.
Briant
and his friends did their utmost to keep the schooner straight ahead.
‘What
is to be done?’ asked Donagan.
‘All
we can to save ourselves, Heaven helping us,’ answered Briant, although even
the most energetic man might have despaired under such circumstances, for the
storm was increasing in violence.
The
gale blew in thunderclaps, as the sailors say, and the expression was only too
true. The schooner had lost her mainmast, gone about four feet above the
partners, so that no trysail could be set under which she might have been more
easily steered. The foremast still held, but the shrouds had stretched, and
every minute it threatened to crash on to the deck. The fore-staysail had been
split to ribbons, and kept up a constant cracking, as if a rifle were being
fired.
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