On the wreck--Efforts to kindle a fire--My flagstaff--Clothing
impossible--Growing corn in turtles' blood--My house of pearl shells--How
the pelicans fished for me--Stung by a "sting-rae"--My amusements--A
peculiar clock--Threatened madness--I begin to build a boat--An appalling
blunder--Riding on turtles--Preaching to Bruno--Canine sympathy--A
sail--How I got fresh water--Sending messages by the pelicans--A
wonderful almanac--A mysterious voice of hope--Human beings at last.
That morning I made my breakfast off raw sea-gulls' eggs, but was unable
to get anything to drink. Between nine and ten o'clock, as the tide was
then very low, I was delighted to find that it was possible to reach the
wreck by walking along the rocks. So, scrambling aboard, I collected as
many things as I could possibly transfer ashore. I had to take dangerous
headers into the cabin, as the whole ship's interior was now full of
water, but all I could manage to secure were a tomahawk and my bow and
arrows, which had been given me by the Papuans. I had always taken a
keen interest in archery, by the way, and had made quite a name for
myself in this direction long before I left Switzerland. I also took out
a cooking-kettle. All these seemingly unimportant finds were of vital
importance in the most literal sense of the phrase, particularly the
tomahawk and the bow, which were in after years my very salvation time
after time.
I was very delighted when I secured my bow and arrows, for I knew that
with them I could always be certain of killing sea-fowl for food. There
was a stock of gunpowder on board and a number of rifles and shot-guns,
but as the former was hopelessly spoiled, I did not trouble about either.
With my tomahawk I cut away some of the ship's woodwork, which I threw
overboard and let drift to land to serve as fuel. When I did eventually
return to my little island, I unravelled a piece of rope, and then tried
to produce fire by rubbing two pieces of wood smartly together amidst the
inflammable material. It was a hopeless business, however; a full half-
hour's friction only made the sticks hot, and rub as hard as I would I
could not produce the faintest suspicion of a spark. I sat down
helplessly, and wondered how the savages I had read of ever got fire in
this way.
Up to this time I had not built myself a shelter of any kind. At night I
simply slept in the open air on the sand, with only my blankets round me.
One morning I was able to get out of the vessel some kegs of precious
water, a small barrel of flour, and a quantity of tinned foods. All
these, together with some sails, spars, and ropes, I got safely ashore,
and in the afternoon I rigged myself up a sort of canvas awning as a
sleeping-place, using only some sails and spars.
Among the things I brought from the ship on a subsequent visit were a
stiletto that had originally been given to me by my mother. It was an
old family relic with a black ebony handle and a finely tempered steel
blade four or five inches in length. I also got a stone tomahawk--a mere
curio, obtained from the Papuans; and a quantity of a special kind of
wood, also taken on board at New Guinea. This wood possessed the
peculiar property of smouldering for hours when once ignited, without
actually bursting into flame. We took it on board because it made such
good fuel.
As the most urgent matter was to kindle a fire, I began experiments with
my two weapons, striking the steel tomahawk against the stone one over a
heap of fluffy material made by unravelling and teasing out a piece of
blanket. Success attended my patient efforts this time, and to my
inexpressible relief and joy I soon had a cheerful fire blazing alongside
my improvised shelter--and, what is more, I took good care _never to let
it go out during the whole lime I remained a prisoner on the island_. The
fire was always my first thought, and night and day it was kept at least
smouldering by means of the New Guinea wood I have already mentioned, and
of which I found a large stock on board. The ship itself, I should
mention, provided me with all the fuel that was required in the ordinary
way, and, moreover, I was constantly finding pieces of wreckage along the
shore that had been gathered in by the restless waves. Often--oh!
often--I reflected with a shudder what my fate would have been had the
ship gone down in deep water, leaving me safe, but deprived of all the
stores she contained. The long, lingering agony, the starvation, the
madness of thirst, and finally a horrible death on that far-away strip of
sand, and another skeleton added to that grisly pile!
The days passed slowly by. In what part of the world I was located I had
not the remotest idea. I felt that I was altogether out of the beaten
track of ships because of the reefs that studded these seas, and
therefore the prospect of my being rescued was very remote indeed--a
thought that often caused me a kind of dull agony, more terrible than any
mere physical pain.
However, I fixed up a flagstaff on the highest point of the island--(poor
"island,"--_that_ was not many inches)--and floated an ensign _upside
down_ from it, in the hope that this signal of distress might be sighted
by some stray vessel, and indicate the presence of a castaway to those on
board. Every morning I made my way to the flagstaff, and scanned the
horizon for a possible sail, but I always had to come away disappointed.
This became a habit; yet, so eternal is hope, that day by day, week by
week, and month by month the bitter disappointment was always a keen
torture. By the way, the very reefs that made those seas so dangerous
served completely to protect my little island in stormy weather. The
fury of the billows lost itself upon them, so that even the surf very
rarely reached me. I was usually astir about sunrise. I knew that the
sun rose about 6 A.M. in those tropical seas and set at 6 P.M.; there was
very little variation all the year round. A heavy dew descended at
night, which made the air delightfully cool; but in the day it was so
frightfully hot that I could not bear the weight of ordinary clothes upon
my person, so I took to wearing a silk shawl instead, hung loosely round
my waist.
Another reason why I abandoned clothes was because I found that when a
rent appeared the sun blazed down through it and raised a painful
blister. On the other hand, by merely wearing a waist-cloth, and taking
constant sea baths, I suffered scarcely at all from the scorching
tropical sun. I now devoted all my energies to the wreck of the
_Veielland_, lest anything should happen to it, and worked with feverish
energy to get everything I possibly could out of the ship. It took me
some months to accomplish this, but eventually I had removed
everything--even the greater part of the cargo of pearl shells. The work
was rendered particularly arduous in consequence of the decks being so
frequently under water; and I found it was only at the full and new moons
that I could actually _walk_ round on the rocks to the wreck. In course
of time the ship began to break up, and I materially assisted the
operation with an axe. I wanted her timbers to build a boat in which to
escape.
The casks of flour I floated ashore were very little the worse for their
immersion; in fact, the water had only soaked through to the depth of a
couple of inches, forming a kind of protecting wet crust, and leaving the
inner part perfectly dry and good. Much of this flour, however, was
afterwards spoiled by weevils; nor did my spreading out the precious
grain in the sunlight on tarpaulins and sails save it from at least
partial destruction. I also brought ashore bags of beans, rice, and
maize; cases of preserved milk and vegetables, and innumerable other
articles of food, besides some small casks of oil and rum. In fact, I
stripped the ship's interior of everything, and at the end of nine months
very little remained of her on the rocks but the bare skeleton of the
hull. I moved all the things out day by day according to the tides.
In a large chest that came ashore from the captain's cabin I found a
stock of all kinds of seeds, and I resolved to see whether I could grow a
little corn. Jensen himself had put the seeds aboard in order to plant
them on some of the islands near which we might be compelled to anchor
for some length of time. Another object was to grow plants on board for
the amusement of the Malays. The seeds included vegetables, flowers, and
Indian corn, the last named being in the cob. The Malays are very fond
of flowers, and the captain told them that they might try and cultivate
some in boxes on board; but when he saw that this would mean an
additional drain upon his supply of fresh water he withdrew the
permission. I knew that salt water would not nourish plants, and I was
equally certain I could not spare fresh water from my own stock for this
purpose.
Nevertheless, I set my wits to work, and at length decided upon an
interesting experiment. I filled a large turtle shell with sand and a
little clay, and thoroughly wetted the mixture with turtle's blood, then
stirring the mass into a puddle and planting corn in it.
The grain quickly sprouted, and flourished so rapidly, that within a very
short time I was able to transplant it--always, however, nourishing it
with the blood of turtles. This most satisfactory result induced me to
extend my operation, and I soon had quaint little crops of maize and
wheat growing in huge turtle shells; the wheat-plants, however, did not
reach maturity.
For a long time I was content with the simple awning I have described as
a place of shelter, but when I began to recover the pearl shells from the
ship, it occurred to me that I might use them as material with which to
build some kind of a hut. Altogether there were about thirty tons of
pearl shells on board, and at first I took to diving for them merely as a
sort of pastime.
I spent many weeks getting enough shells ashore to build a couple of
parallel walls, each about seven feet high, three feet thick, and ten
feet in length. The breeze blew gratefully through them. I filled the
interstices of these walls with a puddle of clayey sand and water,
covered in the top with canvas, and made quite a comfortable living-place
out of it. The walls at any rate had a high commercial value! When the
wet season set in I built a third wall at one end, and erected a sort of
double awning in front, under which I always kept my fire burning. I
also put a straw thatch over the hut, proudly using my own straw which I
had grown with blood.
In course of time I made myself crude articles of furniture, including a
table, some chairs, a bed, &c. My bedding at first consisted of sails,
but afterwards I was able to have a mattress filled with straw from my
corn patch. The kettle I had saved from the wreck was for a long time my
only cooking utensil, so when I had anything to prepare I generally made
an oven in the sand, after the manner of the natives I had met on the New
Guinea main. I could always catch plenty of fish--principally mullet;
and as for sea-fowls, all that I had to do was walk over to that part of
the island where they were feeding and breeding, and knock them over with
a stick. I made dough-cakes from the flour whilst it lasted; and I had
deputies to fish for me--I mean the hundreds of pelicans. The birds who
had little ones to feed went out in the morning, and returned in the
afternoon, with from three to ten pounds of delicious fresh fish in their
curious pouches.
On alighting on the island they emptied their pouches on the sand--too
often, I must confess, solely for my benefit. Selfish bachelor birds on
returning with full pouches jerked their catch into the air, and so
swallowed it. It used to amuse me, however, to watch a robber gull,
perched on their back, cleverly and neatly intercepting the fish as it
ascended. These fish, with broiled turtle meat and tinned fruits, made
quite a sumptuous repast.
After breakfast I would have a swim when the tide was low and there was
no likelihood of sharks being about. A run along the beach in the sun
until I was dry followed, and then I returned to my awning and read aloud
to myself in English, from my medical books and my English-French
Testament, simply for the pleasure of hearing my own voice. I was a very
good linguist in those days, and spoke English particularly well long
before I left Switzerland. After breakfast, my dog and I would go out to
catch a peculiar sort of fish called the "sting-rae." These curious
creatures have a sharp bony spike about two inches in length near the
tail and this I found admirably adapted for arrow-heads. The body of the
fish resembled a huge flounder, but the tail was long and tapering. They
would come close in-shore, and I would spear them from the rocks with a
Papuan fishing-spear. The smallest I ever caught weighed fifteen pounds,
and I could never carry home more than a couple of average weight. They
have the power of stinging, I believe, electrically, hence their name. At
all events, I was once stung by one of these fish, and it was an
experience I shall never forget. It fortunately happened at a time when
some friendly blacks were at hand, otherwise I question very much whether
I should be alive to-day.
I was wading slowly along the beach in rather deep water, when I suddenly
felt a most excruciating pain in my left ankle. It seemed as though I
had just received a paralysing shock from a powerful battery, and down I
fell in a state of absolute collapse, unable to stir a finger to save
myself, although I knew I was rapidly drowning. Fortunately the blacks
who were with me came and pulled me ashore, where I slowly recovered.
There was only a slight scratch on my ankle, but for a long time my whole
body was racked with pain, and when the natives got to know of the
symptoms they told me that I had been attacked by a "sting-rae." The
spike or sting measures from two to six inches in length according to the
size of the fish.
But to return to my solitary life on the island. The flesh of the sting-
rae was not pleasant to eat, being rather tough and tasteless, so I used
it as a bait for sharks. Turtles visited the island in great numbers,
and deposited their eggs in holes made in the sand above high-water mark.
They only came on land during the night, at high tide; and whenever I
wanted a special delicacy, I turned one over on its back till morning,
when I despatched it leisurely with my tomahawk. The creatures' shells I
always devoted to the extension of my garden, which became very large,
and eventually covered fully two-thirds of the island. The maize and cob-
corn flourished remarkably well, and I generally managed to get three
crops in the course of a year. The straw came in useful for bedding
purposes, but as I found the sand-flies and other insects becoming more
and more troublesome whilst I lay on the ground, I decided to try a
hammock. I made one out of shark's hide, and slung it in my hut, when I
found that it answered my purpose splendidly.
The great thing was to ward off the dull agony, the killing depression,
and manias generally. Fortunately I was of a very active disposition,
and as a pastime I took to gymnastics, even as I had at Montreux. I
became a most proficient tumbler and acrobat, and could turn two or three
somersaults on dashing down from the sloping roof of my pearl-shell hut;
besides, I became a splendid high jumper, with and without the pole.
Another thing I interested myself in was the construction of a sun-dial.
Indeed, I spent many hours devising some means whereby I could fashion a
reliable "clock," and at last I worked out the principle of the sun-dial
on the sand. I fixed a long stick perfectly upright in the ground, and
then marked off certain spaces round it by means of pegs and pearl
shells. I calculated the hours according to the length of the shadows
cast by the sun.
But, in spite of all that I could do to interest or amuse myself, I was
frequently overwhelmed with fits of depression and despair, and more than
once I feared I should lose my mental balance and become a maniac. A
religious craze took possession of me, and, strive as I might, I could
not keep my mind from dwelling upon certain apparent discrepancies in the
various apostles' versions of the Gospel!
I found myself constantly brooding over statements made in one form by
St. Matthew, and in another by St. Luke; and I conjured up endless
theological arguments and theories, until I was driven nearly frantic.
Much as I regretted it, I was compelled at last to give up reading my New
Testament, and by the exercise of a strong will I forced myself to think
about something totally different.
It took me a long time to overcome this religious melancholia, but I
mastered it in the long run, and was greatly delighted when I found I
could once more read without being hypercritical and doubtful of
everything. Had I been cast on a luxuriant island, growing fruits and
flowers, and inhabited at least by animals--how different would it have
been! But here there was nothing to save the mind from madness--merely a
tiny strip of sand, invisible a few hundred yards out at sea.
When the fits of depression came upon me I invariably concluded that life
was unbearable, and would actually rush into the sea, with the deliberate
object of putting an end to myself. At these times my agony of mind was
far more dreadful that any degree of physical suffering could have been,
and death seemed to have a fascination for me that I could not resist.
Yet when I found myself up to my neck in water, a sudden revulsion of
feeling would come over me, and instead of drowning myself I would
indulge in a swim or a ride on a turtle's back by way of diverting my
thoughts into different channels.
Bruno always seemed to understand when I had an attack of melancholia,
and he would watch my every movement. When he saw me rushing into the
water, he would follow at my side barking and yelling like a mad thing,
until he actually made me forget the dreadful object I had in view. And
we would perhaps conclude by having a swimming race. These fits of
depression always came upon me towards evening, and generally about the
same hour.
In spite of the apparent hopelessness of my position, I never
relinquished the idea of escaping from the island some day, and
accordingly I started building a boat within a month of my shipwreck.
Not that I knew anything whatever about boat-building; but I was
convinced that I could at least make a craft of some sort that would
float. I set to work with a light heart, but later on paid dearly for my
ignorance in bitter, bitter disappointment and impotent regrets. For one
thing, I made the keel too heavy; then, again, I used planks that were
absurdly thick for the shell, though, of course, I was not aware of these
things at the time. The wreck, of course, provided me with all the
woodwork I required. In order to make the staves pliable, I soaked them
in water for a week, and then heated them over a fire, afterwards bending
them to the required shape. At the end of nine months of unremitting
labour, to which, latterly, considerable anxiety--glorious hopes and
sickening fears--was added, I had built what I considered a substantial
and sea-worthy sailing boat, fully fifteen feet long by four feet wide.
It was a heavy ungainly looking object when finished, and it required
much ingenuity on my part to launch it. This I eventually managed,
however, by means of rollers and levers; but the boat was frightfully low
in the water at the stern. It was quite watertight though, having an
outer covering of sharks' green hide, well smeared with Stockholm tar,
and an inside lining of stout canvas. I also rigged up a mast, and made
a sail. When my boat floated I fairly screamed aloud with wild delight,
and sympathetic Bruno jumped and yelped in unison.
But when all my preparations were complete, and I had rowed out a little
way, I made a discovery that nearly drove me crazy. I found I had
launched the boat in a sort of lagoon several miles in extent, barred by
a crescent of coral rocks, over which _I could not possibly drag my craft
into the open sea_. Although the water covered the reefs at high tide it
was never of sufficient depth to allow me to sail the boat over them. I
tried every possible opening, but was always arrested at some point or
other. After the first acute paroxysm of despair--beating my head with
my clenched fists--I consoled myself with the thought that when the high
tides came, they would perhaps lift the boat over that terrible barrier.
I waited, and waited, and waited, but alas! only to be disappointed. My
nine weary months of arduous travail and half-frantic anticipation were
cruelly wasted. At no time could I get the boat out into the open sea in
consequence of the rocks, and it was equally impossible for me unaided to
drag her back up the steep slope again and across the island, where she
could be launched opposite an opening in the encircling reefs. So there
my darling boat lay idly in the lagoon--a useless thing, whose sight
filled me with heartache and despair. And yet, in this very lagoon I
soon found amusement and pleasure. When I had in some measure got over
the disappointment about the boat, I took to sailing her about in the
lagoon. I also played the part of Neptune in the very extraordinary way
I have already indicated. I used to wade out to where the turtles were,
and on catching a big six-hundred-pounder, I would calmly sit astride on
his back.
Away would swim the startled creature, mostly a foot or so below the
surface. When he dived deeper I simply sat far back on the shell, and
then he was forced to come up. I steered my queer steeds in a curious
way. When I wanted my turtle to turn to the left, I simply thrust my
foot into his right eye, and _vice versa_ for the contrary direction. My
two big toes placed simultaneously over both his optics caused a halt so
abrupt as almost to unseat me. Sometimes I would go fully a mile out to
sea on one of these strange steeds. It always frightened them to have me
astride, and in their terror they swam at a tremendous pace until
compelled to desist through sheer exhaustion.
Before the wet season commenced I put a straw thatch on the roof of my
hut, as before stated, and made my quarters as snug as possible. And it
was a very necessary precaution, too, for sometimes it rained for days at
a stretch. The rain never kept me indoors, however, and I took exercise
just the same, as I didn't bother about clothes, and rather enjoyed the
shower bath. I was always devising means of making life more tolerable,
and amongst other things I made a sort of swing, which I found extremely
useful in beguiling time. I would also practise jumping with long poles.
One day I captured a young pelican, and trained him to accompany me in my
walks and assist me in my fishing operations. He also acted as a decoy.
Frequently I would hide myself in some grass, whilst my pet bird walked a
few yards away to attract his fellows. Presently he would be joined by a
whole flock, many of which I lassoed, or shot with my bow and arrows.
But for my dog--my almost human Bruno--I think I must have died. I used
to talk to him precisely as though he were a human being. We were
absolutely inseparable. I preached long sermons to him from Gospel
texts. I told him in a loud voice all about my early life and school-
days at Montreux; I recounted to him all my adventures, from the fatal
meeting with poor Peter Jensen in Singapore, right up to the present; I
sang little _chansons_ to him, and among these he had his favourites as
well as those he disliked cordially. If he did not care for a song, he
would set up a pitiful howl. I feel convinced that this constant
communing aloud with my dog saved my reason. Bruno seemed always to be
in such good spirits that I never dreamed of anything happening to him;
and his quiet, sympathetic companionship was one of the greatest
blessings I knew throughout many weird and terrible years. As I talked
to him he would sit at my feet, looking so intelligently at me that I
fancied he understood every word of what I was saying.
When the religious mania was upon me, I talked over all sorts of
theological subjects with my Bruno, and it seemed to relieve me, even
though I never received any enlightenment from him upon the knotty point
that would be puzzling me at that particular time. What delighted him
most of all was for me to tell him that I loved him very dearly, and that
he was even more valuable to me than the famous dogs of St. Bernard were
to benighted travellers in the snow.
I knew very little about musical instruments, but as I had often longed
for something to make a noise with, if only to drown the maddening crash
of the eternal surf, I fashioned a drum out of a small barrel, with
sharks' skin stretched tightly over the open ends. This I beat with a
couple of sticks as an accompaniment to my singing, and as Bruno
occasionally joined in with a howl of disapproval or a yell of joy, the
effect must have been picturesque if not musical. I was ready to do
almost anything to drown that ceaseless cr-ash, cr-ash of the breakers on
the beach, from whose melancholy and monotonous roar I could never escape
for a single moment throughout the whole of the long day. However, I
escaped its sound when I lay down to sleep at night by a very simple
plan. As I was stone-deaf in the right ear I always slept on the left
side.
Seven weary months had passed away, when one morning, on scanning the
horizon, I suddenly leaped into the air and screamed: "My God! A sail! A
sail!" I nearly became delirious with excitement, but, alas! the ship
was too far out to sea to notice my frantic signals. My island lay very
low, and all that I could make out of the vessel in the distance was her
sails. She must have been fully five miles away, yet, in my excitement,
I ran up and down the miserable beach, shouting in a frenzy and waving my
arms in the hope of attracting the attention of some one on board; but it
was all in vain. The ship, which I concluded was a pearler, kept
steadily on her way, and eventually disappeared below the horizon.
Never can I hope to describe the gnawing pain at my heart as, hoarse and
half mad, I sank exhausted on the sand, watching the last vestige of the
ship disappearing. Altogether, I saw five ships pass in this way during
my sojourn on the island, but they were always too far out at sea to
notice my signals. One of these vessels I knew to be a man-o'-war flying
the British ensign. I tried to rig up a longer flag-staff, as I thought
the original one not high enough for its purpose. Accordingly I spliced
a couple of long poles together, but to my disappointment found them too
heavy to raise in the air. Bruno always joined in my enthusiasm when a
sail was in sight; in fact, he was generally the first to detect it, and
he would bark and drag at me until he had drawn my attention to the new
hope. And I loved him for his tender sympathy in my paroxysms of regret
and disappointment. The hairy head would rub coaxingly against my arm,
the warm tongue licking my hand, and the faithful brown eyes gazing at me
with a knowledge and sympathy that were more than human--these I feel
sure saved me again and again. I might mention that, although my boat
was absolutely useless for the purpose of escape, I did not neglect her
altogether, but sailed her about the enclosed lagoon by way of practice
in the handling of her sails. This was also a welcome recreation.
I never feared a lack of fresh water, for when, in the dry season, the
ship's stock and my reserve from the wet season were exhausted, I busied
myself with the condensing of sea water in my kettle, adding to my store
literally drop by drop. Water was the only liquid I drank, all the tea
and coffee carried on board having been rendered utterly useless.
The powerful winged birds that abounded on the island one day gave me an
idea: Why not hang a message around their necks and send them forth into
the unknown? Possibly they might bring help--who knows? And with me to
conceive was to act. I got a number of empty condensed-milk tins, and,
by means of fire, separated from the cylinder the tin disc that formed
the bottom. On this disc I scratched a message with a sharp nail. In a
few words I conveyed information about the wreck and my deplorable
condition. I also gave the approximate bearings--latitude fifteen to
thirteen degrees, not far from the Australian main.
These discs--I prepared several in English, French, bad Dutch, German,
and Italian--I then fastened round the necks of the pelicans, by means of
fish-gut, and away across the ocean sped the affrighted birds, so scared
by the mysterious encumbrance that _they never returned to the island_.
I may say here that more than twenty years later, when I returned to
civilisation, I chanced to mention the story about my messenger-birds to
some old inhabitants at Fremantle, Western Australia, when, to my
amazement, they told me that a pelican carrying a tin disc round its
neck, bearing a message in French from a castaway, _had_ been found many
years previously by an old boatman on the beach near the mouth of the
Swan River. But it was not mine.
So appalling was the monotony, and so limited my resources, that I
welcomed with childish glee any trifling little incident that happened.
For example, one lovely night in June I was amazed to hear a tremendous
commotion outside, and on getting up to see what was the matter, I beheld
dimly countless thousands of birds--Java sparrows I believe them to be. I
went back to bed again, and in the morning was a little dismayed to find
that my pretty visitors had eaten up nearly all my green corn. And the
birds were still there when I went forth in the morning. They made the
air ring with their lively chatter, but the uproar they made was as music
to me. The majority of them had greyish-yellow bodies, with yellow beaks
and pink ruffs, and they were not at all afraid of me. I moved about
freely among them, and did not attempt to drive them out of my corn
patch, being only too grateful to see so much life about me. They rose,
however, in great clouds the next day, much to my regret, and as they
soared heavenwards I could not help envying them their blessed freedom.
I kept count of the long days by means of pearl shells, for I had not
used up the whole cargo in the walls of my hut. I put shells side by
side in a row, one for each day, until the number reached seven, and then
I transferred one shell to another place, representing the weeks. Another
pile of shells represented the months; and as for the years, I kept count
of those by making notches on my bow. My peculiar calendar was always
checked by the moon.
Now, I am not a superstitious man, so I relate the following
extraordinary occurrence merely as it happened, and without advancing any
theory of my own to account for it. I had been many, many months--perhaps
more than a year--on that terrible little sand-spit, and on the night I
am describing I went to bed as usual, feeling very despondent. As I lay
asleep in my hammock, I dreamed a beautiful dream. Some spiritual being
seemed to come and bend over me, smiling pityingly. So extraordinarily
vivid was the apparition, that I suddenly woke, tumbled out of my
hammock, and went outside on a vague search. In a few minutes, however,
I laughed at my own folly and turned in again.
I lay there for some little time longer, thinking about the past--for I
dared not dwell on the future--when suddenly the intense stillness of the
night was broken by a strangely familiar voice, which said, distinctly
and encouragingly, "_Je suis avec toi. Soit sans peur_. _Tu
reviendras_." I can never hope to describe my feelings at that moment.
It was not the voice of my father nor of my mother, yet it was certainly
the voice of some one I knew and loved, yet was unable to identify. The
night was strangely calm, and so startling was this mysterious message
that instinctively I leaped out of my hammock again, went outside and
called out several times, but, of course, nothing happened. From that
night, however, I never absolutely despaired, even when things looked
their very worst.
Two interminable years had passed away, when one day the weather suddenly
changed, and a terrible gale commenced to blow, which threatened almost
to wreck my little hut. One morning, a few days later, when the storm
had abated somewhat, I heard Bruno barking wildly on the beach. A few
seconds afterwards he came rushing into the hut, and would not rest until
I prepared to follow him outside. Before doing so, however, I picked up
an oar--I knew not why. I then followed my dog down to the beach,
wondering what could possibly have caused him to make such a fuss. The
sea was somewhat agitated, and as it was not yet very light, I could not
clearly distinguish things in the distance.
On peering seawards for the third or fourth time, however, I fancied I
could make out a long, black object, which I concluded must be some kind
of a boat, tossing up and down on the billows. Then I must confess I
began to share Bruno's excitement,--particularly when a few minutes later
I discerned a well-made catamaran, _with several human figures lying
prostrate upon it_!