THEIR FIRST SABBATH ON THE ISLAND, AND THE NIGHT AND MORNING THAT
SUCCEEDED
The morning sun rose with uncommon beauty, and the young people having
retired early to bed, were prepared for early rising. Frank now
volunteered to aid his sister in preparing for breakfast; his repentance
was shown not by words but by deeds; and though it was only an act of
duty performed towards his sister and the company, it was in part a very
proper beginning in the observance of a day belonging to Him who
encourages us to think that he regards whatever we do from a principle
of duty to our fellow men, as being done to himself.
At the time of worship they gathered with more than usual solemnity
around the accustomed place, and read the portion of Scripture for the
morning. It was a chapter of unusual interest to them all, and
particularly so to Harold. He had become increasingly thoughtful since
their accident. This morning he appeared to be more serious than ever,
and once or twice, when his turn came to read, his voice was so low and
unsteady, that he could scarcely be heard. There was evidently some
cause of distress to that youth of strong mind and pure life which the
others knew not.
The Sabbath passed, as may be readily conceived, without being enlivened
by any incidents of a particularly interesting character. It can
scarcely be said that they did actually sanctify the Sabbath, for there
was nothing spiritual, nor even hearty in their exercises; and they
themselves felt that there was a great deficiency somewhere.
Their unmethodical though conscientious effort was useful in teaching
them to look beyond mere externals for any real good to be derived.
They learned they were imperfect even in their best performances, and
without merit when they had done what they could.
Late in the evening they went to the seashore, and sitting upon a bank
of clean sand near their flag-staff, looked upon the sea from which they
had made so providential an escape, and to which they expected once more
to commit themselves. A light breeze had been blowing from the west all
day, yet light as it was it had been sufficient to raise the waves, and
make them roar and break with ominous violence upon the shore. This
action of the breeze revealed to them another fact, that two or three
miles to the seaward there was a long and apparently endless chain of
breakers extending north and south, as far as the eye could reach. They
could see the large waves gather, and the white tops sparkle with foam.
Here was another cause for thankfulness. Had the present wind been
blowing on the day of their accident, they could not possibly have
crossed that foaming bar; they would have been kept at sea, and been to
a certainty lost in the sudden squall that arose that night.
But the sight of these breakers was also a source of disquiet, in view
of their intended voyage. It was evident, as they supposed, that they
could not sail with safety, when the wind was blowing with any
freshness, either on or off the shore, on account of the rough swell,
caused by the first, and of the danger of being carried out to sea by
the last. They conversed long and anxiously upon this new feature in
their case; and then, by general consent, kneeled together upon the
sands, in conscious helplessness, and implored Him who is the Lord of
the seas, to care for them and direct their steps.
When they left the beach, the light of day was fading into the hues of
night; and several faint stars peeped timidly from the yet illuminated
sky. Mary and Frank retired to their room soon after dark. The larger
boys sat for some time, conversing upon their situation and prospects,
when observing the sky to cloud rapidly with the indications of a sudden
change of weather, they went to the landing, made their boat secure as
possible, and then laid down to rest.
The wind soon began to sigh in the branches of the huge oak above them.
Each puff became stronger than the one before it. They could hear the
roar of the distant surf, bursting angrily over the sandy barrier, and
thundering on the shore. It was the beginning of a hurricane. The boys
sprang from their pallets, and dressing themselves hastily, seized the
ax and hatchet, and drove the tent-pins deeply into the ground. While
thus engaged, Nanny and her kids came up, and showed a strong
disposition to take refuge in the tent. The dogs also gave signs of
uneasiness, following them around with drooping tails, whining and
shivering, as they looked with half shut, winking eyes, in the direction
of the wind. These signs of terror in their dumb companions only made
the boys work faster, and do their work more securely. They did not
content themselves with driving down the tent-pins; they took the logs
cut for firewood, and laid them on the windward edges of the tent, to
prevent the wind from entering below and blowing the canvas from above
their heads. Had they the time they would have laid the sails of their
boat, which they had hastily unrigged, above the canvas of the tent; but
ere they could accomplish this, the wind burst upon them with the fury
of a tornado. The grand old tree quivered to its roots, and groaned in
every limb. The tent fluttered and tugged at the ropes with such force
that the deeply driven pins could scarcely hold it down. It was
fortunate that it had been pitched under the oak, for the long lower
branches, which at ordinary times almost swept the ground, were strained
downwards so far, that with their loads of moss, they formed a valuable
barrier against the wind.
There was little sleeping for the boys that night. Scarcely had they
entered the tent before the rain commenced. It came in heavy drifts,
and was carried with such force that, notwithstanding the protection
afforded by the oak, it insinuated itself through the close threads of
the canvas, and under the edges of the tent. Mary had been awaked by
the hammering, and Frank was now roused by the dropping of water in his
face. When Robert entered their room to see how they fared, he
discovered them seated on a trunk, wrapped in their father’s cloak, and
sheltered by that very umbrella which Frank had been provident enough to
bring. They rolled up their bedding and clothes, and protected as best
they could whatever seemed most in danger from the wet. They sat on
boxes and trunks, and wrapped themselves in cloaks and blankets; but it
was in vain; they could not guard themselves at the same time from the
rain above and the driven water from below. They sat cold and shivering
until three o’clock in the morning, when the rain ceased and the wind
abated. Then they made a fire; and just before day were enabled, by
lying on trunks and boxes, to indulge themselves in a short uneasy
sleep.
The clear sun shone over the main land before the wearied company awoke.
Harold was the first on his feet, and calling to Robert, they hastened
out to see what damage had been done. Mary also joined them, followed
by Frank; for having dressed themselves during the night, they had no
further toilet to make.
In every direction were to be seen traces of the storm; prostrate trees,
broken branches, the ground strewed with twigs, and the thickets and
vines loaded with packages of moss, torn from the taller trees. The sea
roared terribly, and thick dirty billows came rolling up the river.
Harold was about to mend the fire for Mary, who said she wanted to drink
something hot, as the best means of warming her chilled limbs, when
Robert, glancing at the tremendous tide in the river, called to her
quickly--"Do not waste one drop of this water in the bucket; there is
only a quart left, and no one can tell when the tide will be down enough
for us to obtain more." He ran to the bluff, and the others observed
him make a gesture of surprise, look hastily around, and finally leap
down the bank. He was absent only two or three minutes, and then
returned with a pale face and hurrying step.
"Harold!" said he, scarcely able to articulate, "OUR BOAT IS GONE!
Burst from her moorings!"
At this terrible announcement, every face whitened, and there was a
general rush for the landing. It was even so. The boat was nowhere to
be seen. The stake which had confined it had also disappeared. Far as
the eye could reach nothing was visible but water--water, with here and
there a patch of mangrove, higher than the rest, and bowing reluctantly
to the rush of the waves. They looked anxiously over the watery waste,
and then into each other’s agitated faces. It was clear that their
prospect of speedily returning home was hopeless.
"But perhaps," said Mary, who was the first to recover speech, "it is
not lost. It may have only drifted up the river; or it may have sunk at
the landing."
Robert mournfully looked, where he had already looked more than once,
and said, "Well, we can try. But what is the use? something has been
against us ever since we left home. Harold, shall we search the river?"
Harold seemed lost in thought. His keen eye had glanced in every
direction, where it was possible the boat could have been driven; then
lessening in its fire, it gave evidence of deep abstraction. Robert’s
question recalled him, and he slowly answered, "Yes; but it is my
opinion we shall not find it. You know I have all along had the idea
that we ought not to leave this island. It has seemed to me, ever since
the fish let go our anchor, that the hand of God was in this accident,
and that we are not yet at the end of it. I am troubled, like the rest
of you; but I have also been questioning whether it is meant for our
harm or for our good. I do not think it is for harm, or we might have
been left to perish at sea; and if it is for good, I think we ought to
submit with cheerfulness."
They conversed awhile upon the bluff, in view of the dismal waters, then
slowly turned towards the tent, which was now the only place on earth
they could call their home.