But the shore was only half a cable's length off, and a chain of small blackish rocks enabled it to be reached quite easily.
So, ten minutes after, all those carried by the "Pilgrim" had landed at the foot of the cliff.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE BEST TO DO.
So then, after a voyage long delayed by calms, then favored by winds from the northwest and from the southwest—a voyage which had not lasted less than seventy-four days—the "Pilgrim" had just run aground!
However, Mrs. Weldon. and her companions thanked Providence, because they were in safety.
In fact, it was on a continent, and not on one of the fatal isles of Polynesia, that the tempest had thrown them.
Their return to their country, from any point of South America on which they should land, ought not, it seemed, to present serious difficulties.
As to the "Pilgrim," she was lost. She was only a carcass without value, of which the surf was going to disperse the debris in a few hours.
It would be impossible to save anything.
But if Dick Sand had not that joy of bringing back a vessel intact to his ship-owner, at least, thanks to him, those who sailed in her were safe and sound on some hospitable coast, and among them, the wife and child of James W. Weldon.
As to the question of knowing on what part of the American coast the schooner had been wrecked, they might dispute it for a long time.
Was it, as Dick Sand must suppose, on the shore of Peru?
Perhaps, for he knew, even by the bearings of the Isle of Paques, that the "Pilgrim" had been thrown to the northeast under the action of the winds; and also, without doubt, under the influence of the currents of the equatorial zone.
From the forty-third degree of latitude, it had, indeed, been possible to drift to the fifteenth.
It was then important to determine, as soon as possible, the precise point of the coast where the schooner had just been lost.
Granted that this coast was that of Peru, ports, towns and villages were not lacking, and consequently it would be easy to gain some inhabited place. As to this part of the coast, it seemed deserted.
It was a narrow beach, strewed with black rocks, shut off by a cliff of medium height, very irregularly cut up by large funnels due to the rupture of the rock.
Here and there a few gentle declivities gave access to its crest.
In the north, at a quarter of a mile from the stranding place, was the mouth of a little river, which could not have been perceived from the offing.
On its banks hung numerous rhizomas, sorts of mangroves, essentially distinct from their congeners of India.
The crest of the cliff—that was soon discovered—was overhung by a thick forest, whose verdant masses undulated before the eyes, and extended as far as the mountains in the background.
There, if Cousin Benedict had been a botanist, how many trees, new to him, would not have failed to provoke his admiration. There were high baobabs—to which, however, an extraordinary longevity has been falsely attributed—the bark of which resembles Egyptian syenite, Bourbon palms, white pines, tamarind-trees, pepper-plants of a peculiar species, and a hundred other plants that an American is not accustomed to see in the northern region of the New Continent.
But, a circumstance rather curious, among those forest productions one would not meet a single specimen of that numerous family of palm-trees which counts more than a thousand species, spread in profusion over almost the whole surface of the globe.
Above the sea-shore a great number of very noisy birds were flying, which belonged for the greater part to different varieties of swallows, of black plumage, with a steel-blue shade, but of a light chestnut color on the upper part of the head.
Here and there also rose some partridges, with necks entirely white, and of a gray color.
Mrs. Weldon and Dick Sand observed that these different birds did not appear to be at all wild.
They approached without fearing anything.
Then, had they not yet learned to fear the presence of man, and was this coast so deserted that the detonation of a firearm had never been heard there?
At the edge of the rocks were walking some pelicans of the species of "pelican minor," occupied in filling with little fish the sack which they carry between the branches of their lower jaw.
Some gulls, coming from the offing, commenced to fly about around the "Pilgrim."
Those birds were the only living creatures that seemed to frequent this part of the coast, without counting, indeed, numbers of interesting insects that Cousin Benedict would well know how to discover.
But, however little Jack would have it, one could not ask them the name of the country; in order to learn it, it would be necessary to address some native.
There were none there, or at least, there was not one to be seen.
No habitation, hut, or cabin, neither in the north, beyond the little river, nor in the south, nor finally on the upper part of the cliff, in the midst of the trees of the thick forest. No smoke ascended into the air, no indication, mark, or imprint indicated that this portion of the continent was visited by human beings.
Dick Sand continued to be very much surprised.
"Where are we?
Where can we be?" he asked himself.
"What! nobody to speak to?"
Nobody, in truth, and surely, if any native had approached, Dingo would have scented him, and announced him by a bark.
The dog went backward and forward on the strand, his nose to the ground, his tail down, growling secretly—certainly very singular behavior—but neither betraying the approach of man nor of any animal whatsoever.
"Dick, look at Dingo!" said Mrs. Weldon.
"Yes, that is very strange," replied the novice.
"It seems as if he were trying to recover a scent."
"Very strange, indeed," murmured Mrs. Weldon; then, continuing, "what is Negoro doing?" she asked.
"He is doing what Dingo is doing," replied Dick Sand. "He goes, he comes!
After all, he is free here.
I have no longer the right to control him.
His service ended with the stranding of the Pilgrim.'"
In fact, Negoro surveyed the strand, turned back, and looked at the shore and the cliff like a man trying to recall recollections and to fix them.