“I see, my dear wife,” said I, “that you, as well as the rest of my
family, are contented to remain on this island, where it seems it is the
will of God for us to dwell, as it is improbable that in such a tempest
Captain Johnson would risk approaching the island, if indeed it has not
been already fatal to him. I am impatient to learn if Fritz has any
tidings of him; for it was on the shore near Tent House that he and Jack
passed the night.”
“Well done, my good and courageous boys!” said their mother; “they might
at any rate have given assistance to them if wrecked.”
“You are more courageous than I am, my dear Elizabeth,” answered I; “I
have passed the whole night mourning for my children, and you think only
of the good they might have done to their fellow-creatures.”
My sons were awake by this time, and I eagerly inquired if they had
discovered any traces of the vessel. Fritz said they had not; but he
feared it would never be able to resist the fury of the tempest.
“No, indeed,” said Jack; “those mountains of waves, which were not
fixtures like other mountains, came full gallop to swallow up Fritz the
great, Jack the little, and their fine canoe.”
My wife nearly fainted when she heard they had ventured on that terrible
sea; and I reminded Fritz that I had forbidden him to do this.
“But you have often said to me, papa,” said he, “do unto others as you
would they should do unto you; and what a happiness it would have been
to us, when our vessel was wrecked, if we had seen a canoe!”
“With two bold men coming to our assistance,” said Jack;—“but go on
with your story, Fritz.”
Fritz continued: “We proceeded first to the rocks, and, with some
difficulty, and not until Jack had shed some blood in the cause, we
secured the karata-leaves, with their ugly thorns at the end. When our
sack was full, we proceeded along the rocks towards Tent House. From
this height I tried to discover the ship, but the darkness obscured
everything. Once I thought I perceived at a great distance a fixed
light, which was neither a star nor the lightning, and which I lost
sight of occasionally. We had now arrived at the cascade, which, from
the noise, seemed much swollen by the rain—our great stones were quite
hidden by a boiling foam. I would have attempted to cross, if I had been
alone; but, with Jack on my shoulders, I was afraid of the risk. I
therefore prepared to follow the course of the river to Family Bridge.
The wet ground continually brought us on our knees, and with great
difficulty we reached the bridge. But judge of our consternation! the
river had risen so much that the planks were covered, and, as we
conceived, the whole was destroyed. I then told Jack to return to
Falcon’s Nest with the karata-leaves, and I would swim across the river.
I returned about a hundred yards up the stream to find a wider and less
rapid part, and easily crossed. Judge of my surprise when I saw a human
figure approaching to meet me; I had no doubt it was the captain of the
vessel, and—”
“And it was Captain Jack, _sans peur et sans reproche_,” said the bold
little fellow. “I was determined not to return home a poltroon who was
afraid of the water.” When Fritz was gone, I tried the bridge, and soon
found there was not sufficient water over it to risk my being drowned. I
took off my boots, which might have made me slip, and my cloak, which
was too heavy, and, making a dart, I ran with all my strength across,
and reached the other side. I put on my boots, which I had in my hands,
and advanced to meet Fritz, who called out, as soon as he saw me, “Is it
you, captain?” I tried to say, “Yes, certainly,” in a deep tone, but my
laughter betrayed me.
“To my great regret;” said Fritz, “I should truly have preferred meeting
Captain Johnson; but I fear he and his people are at the bottom of the
sea. After meeting with Jack, we proceeded to Tent House, where we
kindled a good fire, and dried ourselves a little. We then refreshed
ourselves with some wine which remained on the table where you had
entertained the captain, and proceeded to prepare a signal to inform the
vessel we were ready to receive them. We procured a thick bamboo cane
from the magazine; I fixed firmly to one end of it the large lantern of
the fish’s bladder you gave us to take; I filled the lamp with oil, and
placed in it a thick cotton-wick, which, when lighted, was very
brilliant. Jack and I then placed it on the shore, at the entrance of
the bay. We fixed it before the rock, where the land-wind would not
reach it, sunk it three or four feet into the ground, steadied it with
stones, and then went to rest over our fire, after this long and
difficult labour. After drying ourselves a little, we set out on our
return, when, looking towards the sea, we were startled by the
appearance of the same light we had noticed before; we heard, at the
same time, the distant report of a gun, which was repeated three or four
times at irregular intervals. We were persuaded that it was the vessel
calling to us for aid, and, remembering the command of our Saviour, we
thought you would forgive our disobedience if we presented to you in the
morning the captain, the lieutenant, and as many as our canoe would
contain. We entered it then without any fear, for you know how light and
well-balanced it is; and, rowing into the bay, the sail was spread to
the wind, and we had no more trouble. I then took the helm; my own
signal-light shone clearly on the shore; and, _except_ for the rain
which fell in torrents, the waves which washed over our canoe, and
uneasiness about the ship and about you, and our fear that the wind
might carry us into the open sea, we should have had a delightful
little maritime excursion. When we got out of the bay, I perceived the
wind was driving us towards Shark’s Island, which, being directly before
the bay, forms two entrances to it. I intended to go round it, and
disembark there, if possible, that I might look out for some trace of
the ship, but we found this impossible; the sea ran too high; besides,
we should have been unable to moor our canoe, the island not affording a
single tree or anything we could lash it to, and the waves would soon
have carried it away. We had now lost sight of the light, and hearing no
more signals, I began to think on your distress when we did not arrive
at the hour we promised. I therefore resolved to return by the other
side of the bay, carefully avoiding the current, which would have
carried us into the open sea. I lowered the sail by means of the ropes
you had fixed to it, and we rowed into port. We carefully moored the
canoe, and, without returning to Tent House, took the road home. We
crossed the bridge as Jack had done, found the waterproof cloak and bag
of karata-leaves where he had left them, and soon after met Ernest. As
it was daylight, I did not take him for the captain, but knew him
immediately, and felt the deepest remorse when I heard from him in what
anxiety and anguish you had passed the night. Our enterprise was
imprudent, and altogether useless; but we might have saved life, which
would have been an ample remuneration. I fear all is hopeless. What do
you think, father, of their fate?”
“I hope they are far from this dangerous coast,” said I; “but if still
in our neighbourhood, we will do all we can to assist them. As soon as
the tempest is subsided, we will take the pinnace and sail round the
island. You have long urged me to this, Fritz; and who knows but on the
opposite side we may find some traces of our own poor sailors,—perhaps
even meet with them?”
The weather gradually clearing, I called my sons to go out with me. My
wife earnestly besought me not to venture on the sea; I assured her it
was not sufficiently calm, but we must examine our plantations, to
ascertain what damage was done, and at the same time we might look out
for some traces of the wreck; besides, our animals were becoming
clamorous for food; therefore, leaving Ernest with her, we descended to
administer in the first place to their wants.
* * * * *