We soon arrived at Family Bridge, where I had some hopes of meeting
Francis, and perhaps his mother, who was beginning to walk very well;
but I was disappointed—they were not there. Yet I was not uneasy, for
they were neither certain of the hour of our return, nor of the way we
might take. I expected, however, to find them in the colonnade—they
were not there. I hastily entered the house; I called aloud, “Elizabeth!
Francis! where are you?” No one answered. A mortal terror seized me—and
for a moment I could not move.
“They will be in the grotto,” said Ernest.
“Or in the garden,” said Fritz.
“Perhaps on the shore,” cried Jack; “my mother likes to watch the waves,
and Francis may be gathering shells.”
These were possibilities. My sons flew in all directions in search of
their mother and brother. I found it impossible to move, and was obliged
to sit down. I trembled, and my heart beat till I could scarcely
breathe. I did not venture to dwell on the extent of my fears, or,
rather, I had no distinct notion of them. I tried to recover myself. I
murmured, “Yes—at the grotto, or the garden—they will return
directly.” Still, I could not compose myself. I was overwhelmed with a
sad presentiment of the misfortune which impended over me. It was but
too soon realized. My sons returned in fear and consternation. They had
no occasion to tell me the result of their search; I saw it at once,
and, sinking down motionless, I cried, “Alas! they are not there!”
Jack returned the last, and in the most frightful state; he had been at
the sea-shore, and, throwing himself into my arms, he sobbed out—
“The savages have been here, and carried away my mother and Francis;
perhaps they have devoured them; I have seen the marks of their
horrible feet on the sands, and the print of dear Francis’s boots.”
This account at once recalled me to strength and action.
“Come, my children, let us fly to save them. God will pity our sorrow,
and assist us. He will restore them. Come, come!”
They were ready in a moment. But a distracting thought seized me. Had
they carried off the pinnace? if so, every hope was gone. Jack, in his
distress, had never thought of remarking this; but, the instant I named
it, Fritz and he ran to ascertain the important circumstance, Ernest, in
the mean time, supporting me, and endeavouring to calm me.
“Perhaps,” said he, “they are still in the island. Perhaps they may have
fled to hide themselves in some wood, or amongst the reeds. Even if the
pinnace be left, it would be prudent to search the island from end to
end before we leave it. Trust Fritz and me, we will do this; and, even
if we find them in the hands of the enemy, we will recover them. Whilst
we are off on this expedition, you can be preparing for our voyage, and
we will search the world from one end to the other, every country and
every sea, but we will find them. And we shall succeed. Let us put our
whole trust in God. He is our Father, he will not try us beyond our
strength.”
I embraced my child, and a flood of tears relieved my overcharged heart.
My eyes and hands were raised to Heaven; my silent prayers winged their
flight to the Almighty, to him who tries us and consoles us. A ray of
hope seemed to visit my mind, when I heard my boys cry out, as they
approached—
“The pinnace is here! they have not carried that away!”
I fervently thanked God—it was a kind of miracle; for this pretty
vessel was more tempting than the canoe. Perhaps, as it was hidden in a
little creek between the rocks, it had escaped their observation;
perhaps they might not know how to manage it; or they might not be
numerous enough. No matter, it was there, and might be the means of our
recovering the beloved objects those barbarians had torn from us. How
gracious is God, to give us hope to sustain us in our afflictions!
Without hope, we could not live; it restores and revives us, and, even
if never realized below, accompanies us to the end of our life, and
beyond the grave!
I imparted to my eldest son the idea of his brother, that they might be
concealed in some part of the island; but I dared not rely on this sweet
hope. Finally, as we ought not to run the risk of abandoning them, if
they were still here, and perhaps in the power of the savages, I
consented that my two eldest sons should go to ascertain the fact.
Besides, however impatient I was, I felt that a voyage such as we were
undertaking into unknown seas might be of long duration, and it was
necessary to make some preparations—I must think on food, water, arms,
and many other things. There are situations in life which seize the
heart and soul, rendering us insensible to the wants of the body—this
we now experienced. We had just come from a painful journey, on foot, of
twenty-four hours, during which we had had little rest, and no sleep.
Since morning we had eaten nothing but some morsels of the bread-fruit;
it was natural that we should be overcome with fatigue and hunger. But
we none of us had even thought of our own state—we were supported, if I
may use the expression, by our despair. At the moment that my sons were
going to set out, the remembrance of their need of refreshment suddenly
occurred to me, and I besought them to rest a little, and take
something; but they were too much agitated to consent. I gave Fritz a
bottle of Canary, and some slices of roast mutton I met with, which he
put in his pocket. They had each a loaded musket, and they set out,
taking the road along the rocks, where the most hidden retreats and most
impenetrable woods lay; they promised me to fire off their pieces
frequently to let their mother know they were there, if she was hidden
among the rocks—they took also one of the dogs. Flora we could not
find, which made us conclude she had followed her mistress, to whom she
was much attached.
As soon as my eldest sons had left us, I made Jack conduct me to the
shore where he had seen the footmarks, that I might examine them, to
judge of their number and direction. I found many very distinct, but so
mingled, I could come to no positive conclusion. Some were near the sea,
with the foot pointing to the shore; and amongst these Jack thought he
could distinguish the boot-mark of Francis. My wife wore very light
boots also, which I had made for her; they rendered stockings
unnecessary, and strengthened her ankles. I could not find the trace of
these; but I soon discovered that my poor Elizabeth had been here, from
a piece torn from an apron she wore, made of her own cotton, and dyed
red. I had now not the least doubt that she was in the canoe with her
son. It was a sort of consolation to think they were together; but how
many mortal fears accompanied this consolation! Oh! was I ever to see
again these objects of my tenderest affection!
Certain now that they were not in the island, I was impatient for the
return of my sons, and I made every preparation for our departure. The
first thing I thought of was the wrecked chest, which would furnish me
with means to conciliate the savages, and to ransom my loved ones. I
added to it everything likely to tempt them; utensils, stuffs, trinkets;
I even took with me gold and silver coin, which was thrown on one side
as useless, but might be of service to us on this occasion. I wished my
riches were three times as much as they were, that I might give all in
exchange for the life and liberty of my wife and son. I then turned my
thoughts on those remaining to me: I took, in bags and gourds, all that
we had left of cassava bread, manioc roots, and potatoes; a barrel of
salt-fish, two bottles of rum, and several jars of fresh water. Jack
wept as he filled them at his fountain, which he perhaps might never see
again, any more than his dear Valiant, whom I set at liberty, as well as
the cow, ass, buffalo, and the beautiful onagra. These docile animals
were accustomed to us and our attentions, and they remained in their
places, surprised that they were neither harnessed nor mounted. We
opened the poultry-yard and pigeon-cote. The flamingo would not leave
us, it went and came with us from the house to the pinnace. We took
also oil, candles, fuel, and a large iron pot to cook our provisions in.
For our defence, I took two more guns, and a small barrel of powder, all
we had left. I added besides some changes of linen, not forgetting some
for my dear wife, which I hoped might be needed. The time fled rapidly
while we were thus employed; night came on, and my sons returned not. My
grief was inconceivable; the island was so large and woody, that they
might have lost themselves, or the savages might have returned and
encountered them. After twenty hours of frightful terror, I heard the
report of a gun—alas! only _one_ report! it was the signal agreed on if
they returned alone; _two_ if they brought their mother; _three_ if
Francis also accompanied them; but I expected they would return alone,
and I was still grateful. I ran to meet them; they were overcome with
fatigue and vexation.
They begged to set out immediately, not to lose one precious moment;
they were now sure the island did not contain those they lamented, and
they hoped I would not return without discovering them, for what would
the island be to us without our loved ones? Fritz, at that moment, saw
his dear Lightfoot capering round him, and could not help sighing as he
caressed him, and took leave of him.
“May I find thee here,” said he, “where I leave thee in such sorrow; and
I will bring back thy young master,” added he, turning to the bull, who
was also approaching him.
He then begged me again to set out, as the moon was just rising in all
her majesty.
“The queen of night,” said Ernest; “will guide us to the queen of our
island, who is perhaps now looking up to her, and calling on us to
help her.”
“Most assuredly,” said I, “she is thinking on us; but it is on God she
is calling for help. Let us join her in prayer, my dear children, for
herself and our dear Francis.”
They fell on their knees with me, and I uttered the most fervent and
earnest prayer that ever human heart poured forth; and I rose with
confidence that our prayers were heard. I proceeded with new courage to
the creek that contained our pinnace, where Jack arranged all we had
brought; we rowed out of the creek, and when we were in the bay, we held
a council to consider on which side we were to commence our search. I
thought of returning to the great bay, from whence our canoe had been
taken; my sons, on the contrary, thought that these islanders, content
with their acquisition, had been returning homewards, coasting along the
island, when an unhappy chance had led their mother and brother to the
shore, where the savages had seen them, and carried them off. At the
most, they could but be a day before us; but that was long enough to
fill us with dreadful anticipations. I yielded to the opinion of my
sons, which had a great deal of reason on its side, besides the wind was
favourable in that direction; and, abandoning ourselves in full
confidence to Almighty God, we spread our sails, and were soon in
the open sea.
* * * * *