Chapter Four.

Chapter Four.The Coral Island—Proceedings Therein.The island on which the raft with its occupants had been cast was of small size, not more than six miles in extent, and lay low in the water. Nevertheless it was covered with luxuriant vegetation, among which were several groves of cocoa-nut palms, the long feathery branches of which waved gracefully in a gentle breeze, as if beckoning an invitation to the castaways on the reef to cross the lagoon and find shelter there. But crossing the lagoon was not an easy matter.“Shure it’s a mile wide if it’s a futt,” said one of the men as they stood in a group on the reef, dripping and gazing at the isle.“No, Simon O’Rook,” said Bob Corkey, in that flat contradictions way to which some men are prone; “no, it’s only half a mile if it’s an inch.”“You’re wrong, both of you,” said Baldwin Burr, “it ain’t more than quarter of a mile. Quite an easy swim for any of us.”“Except my Polly,” observed the captain quietly.“Ay, and those who are too weak to swim,” said Watty Wilkins, with a glance at his friend Ben, who had lain down on the sand and listened with a calm untroubled look to the conversation.“You don’t seem at all anxious,” whispered Polly to Ben.“No, Polly, I’m not. I have lately been taught how to trust in God by your example.”“By mine!” exclaimed the child in extreme surprise.Before Ben could reply the captain turned and called to Polly.“Come here, my duckey; Edwin Jack offers to swim over the lagoon to the island with you on his back. Will you trust yourself to him?”“Yes, father,” answered the child promptly.“But maybe there are sharks,” suggested O’Rook.There was a momentary silence. In the excitement of the occasion every one had forgotten sharks. What was to be done? The raft was utterly destroyed. Only a few of the logs which had formed it lay on the reef; the rest were floating on the lagoon at various distances, none nearer than fifty yards.“There’s nothing for it, then, but to reconstruct our raft,” said the captain, throwing off his coat and shoes; “so these logs must be secured.”He had only taken two steps towards the water when Philosopher Jack grasped his arm.“Stop, sir, it is your duty to look after Polly. Now lads, those who can swim come along!”Another instant and he was in the sea, regardless of sharks, and striking out for the floating wreckage, closely followed by O’Rook, Corkey, Burr, and Watty Wilkins. Strange to say, eight other men of the crew could not swim, although they had managed somehow to scramble on the reef. Whether it was that the sharks were not there at the time, or that the number and energy of the swimmers frightened them, we cannot tell, but each man reached a log or plank in safety, and began pushing it towards the reef. It was when they drew near to this that the trial of their courage was most severe. The excitement and gush of daring with which they had plunged in was by that time expended, and the slow motion of the logs gave them time for reflection. O’Rook’s lively fancy troubled him much.“If the baists would only attack a man in front,” he muttered, “it’s little I’d mind ’em, but to come up behind, sneakin’ like—hooroo!”At that moment a branch of coral, which projected rather far from the bottom, touched O’Rook’s toe and drew from him an uncontrollable yell of alarm. Baldwin Burr, who swam close behind, was humorously inclined as well as cool. He pushed the plank he was guiding close to his comrade’s back, dipped the end of it, and thrust it down on O’Rook’s legs.The effect was even more powerful than he had hoped for.“A shark!—a sha-a-a-rk!” howled O’Rook, and dived under the broken main-yard, which he was piloting ashore. Coming up on the other side, he tried to clamber on it, but it rolled round and dropped him. He went down with a gurgling cry. Again he rose, grasped the spar with his left arm, glared wildly round, and clenched his right hand as if ready to hit on the nose any creature—fish, flesh, or fowl—that should assail him.“Take it easy, messmate,” said Burr in a quiet tone; “sorry I touched you. Hope it didn’t hurt much.”“Och! it was you, was it? Sure, I thought it was a shark; well, well, it’s plaised I am to be let off so aisy.”With this philosophic reflection O’Rook landed with his piece of timber. Enough of material was soon collected to form a raft sufficiently large to ferry half of the party across the lagoon, and in two trips the whole were landed in safety on the island.“You don’t mean to tell me, Jack,” said Baldwin Burr, “that this island was made by coral insects?”“Yes, I do!” said Jack.“From the top to the bottom?” asked Burr.“From the bottom to the top,” said Edwin.Baldwin asked this question of the philosopher during a pause in their labours. They were, at the time, engaged in constructing a new bower for Polly among the flowering shrubs under the cocoa-nut palms. Polly herself was aiding them, and the rest of the party were scattered among the bushes, variously employed in breaking down branches, tearing up long grass, and otherwise clearing ground for an encampment.“How could insects make an island?” asked Polly, sitting down on a bank to rest.“Don’t you know, Poll?” said Edwin; “why, I thought your father taught you about almost everything.”“Oh no,” replied Polly, with an innocent smile, “not everything yet, you know, but I daresay he will in the course of time. Tell me about the insects.”“Well, let me see, how shall I begin?” said Jack, leaning against the bank, and crossing his arms on his breast. “The coral insects, Polly, are very small, some of them not larger than a pin’s head. They are great builders. There is lime in sea-water. The insects, which are called corallines, have the power of attracting this lime to them; drawing it away from the water, so to speak, and fixing it round their own bodies, which is called secreting the lime. Thus they form shells, or houses, to themselves, which they fix at the bottom of the sea. Having laid the basements of their houses close together, they proceed to add upper storeys, and thus they add storey to storey, until they reach the surface of the sea. They work in such innumerable millions that, in course of time, they form reefs and islands, as you see.”“But Idon’tsee!” said Polly, looking round; “at least, I don’t see corallines working.”“Ah, good,” said Baldwin, with a nod of approval to the child, as if to say, “You have him there!”“True,” returned the philosopher, “because the corallines can only work under water. The moment they reach the surface they die; but those that remain continue their labours on the sides of the reef or island, and thus widen it. Then the waves break off masses of coral, and cast them, with drifting sea-weed and other things, up on the reef, which makes it higher; then sea-birds come to rest on it. The winds carry seeds of various plants to it, which take root, grow up, die; and thus thicken the soil by slow degrees, till at last, after a long, long time, the island becomes a pretty large and fertile one like this.”“Wonderful!” exclaimed Polly; “what a clever insect!”“Clever indeed,” returned Edwin; “especially when we consider that it has got no brains.”“No brains!” echoed Baldwin.“No, it has little more than a stomach.”“Oh! come now,” remonstrated Baldwin; “we can’t believe that, can we, Miss Polly? Even a house-builder must think, much more an island-builder; and no fellow can think with his stomach, you know.”“Nevertheless, it is as I tell you,” continued Jack, “and these little creatures manage to create hundreds of islands in the Southern Seas, by their perseverance, energy, and united action. Quite an example to man—eh, Baldwin?”“Ha! just so—a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together. I think we’d better act on the principles of these corry-lines, else Miss Polly’s bower won’t be ready afore dark.”So saying, the seaman and our philosopher resumed their work with such united energy—aided by Polly herself—that a very comfortable habitation of boughs and large leaves was finished before the day closed. It resembled a large beehive, was overshadowed by dense foliage of a tropical kind, and carpeted with a species of fern.Polly was profuse in her thanks, and when it was finished, called to her father to come and admire it. The stout mariner at once obeyed the summons. He quitted the pile of firewood on which he had been labouring, and with a violently red face and perspiring brow, appeared on the scene, bearing a mighty axe on his shoulder.“Splendid!” he exclaimed, with beaming admiration. “It’s fit for the queen of the coral isles.”“For whom it is intended!” said Philosopher Jack, quickly.Polly laughed, for she understood the compliment, but suddenly became grave, as she remembered Ben Trench, and said, “No, no; it must be used as a shelter for Ben.”“That’s kind of you, Polly,” said Watty coming up with a huge bundle of grass and foliage for bedding at the moment; “but Ben has got friends to remember him as well as you. Bob Corkey and I have made him a hut on the other side of the bushes—there, you may see the top of it through the leaves.”“Does any one know where Mr Luke is?” asked the captain.None of those assembled at the bower had seen him for some hours, and Captain Samson was on the point of organising a party to go in search of him, when one of the crew came in from the bush and said he had gone off with Simon O’Rook to the highest point of the low islet, to ascertain if possible its extent.“He’s all right if O’Rook is with him,” said the captain to Polly, in confidence, when they went into the bower together; “but he’s not to be trusted away by himself. I never saw a man more unfit to look after himself.”“And yet he is a good, kind man, father,” said Polly.“True, quite true, Poll,” replied the captain, musingly. “I wonder why it is that some men seem as if they had been meant for women; maybe it is by way of balancing those women who seem to have been meant for men!”Polly listened to this with a look of grave consideration, but not having formed an opinion on the subject, wisely held her tongue.Meanwhile O’Rook led his companion towards the highest part of the islet, which, being clear of trees, seemed likely to afford them a good outlook. The sailor was a man of inquiring disposition, and, being of a free-and-easy nature, did not hesitate to speak out his mind on all occasions. After walking beside his tall companion and eyeing his thin figure and sad countenance in silence for some time, he said—“You’re a cadaverous sort o’ man, Mr Luke.”“Think so?” said Mr Luke, gently.“Of course; I can’t help thinkin’ so, because I see it,” returned O’Rook. “Was it a fall, now, w’en you was a babby, that did it, or measles?”“Neither, that I am aware of,” replied Mr Luke, with a good-natured smile; “my father before me was cadaverous.”“Ah!” said O’Rook, with a look of sympathy, as he touched the region of his heart with his left thumb, “p’r’aps it was somethin’ o’ this sort, eh? I’ve bin through that myself in the ould country, where as purty a—well, well, it’s all over now, but I’ve a fellow-feelin’ for—”“No,” interrupted Mr Luke, with a sigh, “it wasn’t a disappointment, it was—oh! what a splendid view!”They had reached the top of the ridge at the moment, and the view of the verdant islet that burst upon them might well have called forth admiration from men of coarser mould than they.O’Rook forgot for a few minutes the subject of his curiosity, and compared the prospect to some of the beautiful scenery of Ireland, though there was no resemblance whatever between the two. He soon returned, however, to the previous subject of conversation, but Mr Luke had ceased to be communicative.“What is that lying on the beach there?” he said, pointing in the direction referred to.“It’s more than I can tell,” answered O’Rook; “looks like a boat, don’t it?”“Very,” said Mr Luke, “and there is something lying beside it like a man. Come, let’s go see.”The two explorers went rapidly down the gentle slope that led to the beach, and soon found that the object in question was indeed a boat, old, rotten, and blistered with the sun. Beside it lay the skeleton of a man, with a few rags of the garments that had once formed its clothing still clinging to it here and there. It was a pitiful sight. Evidently the unfortunate man had been cast away in an open boat, and had been thrown on that beach when too much exhausted to make a last struggle for life, for there was no sign of his having wandered from the boat or cut down bushes, or attempted to make a fire. His strength had apparently enabled him to get out of the boat, that was all, and there he had lain down to die.For some time the two wanderers stood contemplating the sight in silence, and when at length they spoke it was in low, sad tones.“Poor, poor fellow,” said Mr Luke, “he must have been shipwrecked, like ourselves, and cast adrift in the boat. But I wonder that he is alone; one would expect that some of his comrades must have got into the boat along with him.”“No doubt,” said O’Rook, “they was all starved at sea and throw’d overboard. Come, Mr Luke, let’s bury him; it’s all we can do for him now.”Saying this, O’Rook threw off his jacket and, with his companion’s assistance, soon scraped a hole in the sand. Into this they were about to lift the skeleton, when they observed that its right hand covered a decayed remnant of rag, under which was seen a glittering substance. It turned out to be the clasp of a notebook, which, however, was so decayed and glued together that it could not be opened. O’Rook therefore wrapped it in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. Then they buried the skeleton, and rolled a large mass of coral rock upon the grave to mark the spot.A careful examination was next made of the old boat and the locality around it, but nothing whatever was found to throw light on the fate of the vessel to which the man had belonged.Returning to the encampment, O’Rook and his companion found their friends busy preparing supper, which consisted of some provisions saved from the raft, and cocoa-nuts.In a few seconds the whole party was assembled in front of Polly’s bower, listening attentively, while O’Rook described the discovery of the skeleton to the captain, and produced the old notebook. Deep was the interest of every member of that little community as the captain attempted to open the book, and intense was the expression of disappointment on each countenance—especially on that of Polly—when, after a prolonged trial, he utterly failed.“Let Philosopher Jack try it,” exclaimed Watty Wilkins eagerly.The captain at once handed the book to Jack with a smile.“To be sure,” said he, “a philosopher ought to understand the management of books better than a skipper; but when a book is glued hard and fast like that, it may puzzle even a philosopher to master its contents.”Jack made the attempt, however. He went to work with the calm deliberation of a thorough workman. By the aid of heat and gentle friction and a little moisture, and the judicious use of a penknife, he succeeded at last in opening the book in one or two places. While he was thus engaged, the rest of the party supped and speculated on the probable contents of the book.“Here is a legible bit at last,” said Jack, “but the writing is very faint. Let me see. It refers to the state of the weather and the wind. The poor man evidently kept a private journal. Ah! here, in the middle of the book, the damp has not had so much effect.”As he turned and separated the leaves with great care, Jack’s audience gazed at him intently and forgot supper. At last he began to read:—“‘Saturday, 4th.—Have been three weeks now on short allowance. We are all getting perceptibly weaker. The captain, who is not a strong man, is sinking. The boat is overcrowded. If a gale should spring up we shall all perish. I don’t like the looks of two of the men. They are powerful fellows, and the captain and I believe them to be quite capable of murdering the most of us, and throwing us overboard to save their own lives.’“Here there is a blank,” said Jack, “and the next date is the 8th, but there is no month or year given. The writing continues:—“‘I scarce know what has passed during the last few days. It is like a horrible dream. The two men made the attempt, and killed big George, whom they feared most, because of his courage and known fidelity to the captain; but, before they could do further mischief, the second mate shot them both. The boat floats lighter now, and, through God’s mercy, the weather continues fine. Our last ration was served out this morning—two ounces of biscuit each, and a wine-glass of water.Sunday, 11th.—Two days without food. The captain read to us to-day some chapters out of the Bible, those describing the crucifixion of Jesus. Williams and Ranger were deeply impressed, and for the first time seemed to lament their sins, and to speak of themselves as crucifiers of Jesus. The captain’s voice very weak, but he is cheerful and resigned. It is evident thathistrust is in the Lord. He exhorts us frequently. We feel the want of water more than food.Wednesday.—The captain and Williams died yesterday. Ranger drank sea water in desperation. He went mad soon after, and jumped overboard. We tried to save him, but failed. Only three of us are left. If we don’t meet with a ship, or sight an island, it will soon be all over with us.Thursday.—I am alone now. An island is in sight, but I can scarcely raise myself to look at it. I will bind this book to my hand. If any one finds me, let him send it to my beloved wife, Lucy. It will comfort her to know that my last thoughts on earth were of her dear self, and that my soul is resting on my Redeemer. I grow very cold and faint. May God’s best blessing rest—’”The voice of the reader stopped suddenly, and for some moments there was a solemn silence, broken only by a sob from Polly Samson.“Why don’t you go on?” asked the captain.“There is nothing more,” said Jack sadly. “His strength must have failed him suddenly. It is unfortunate, for, as he has neither signed his name nor given the address of his wife, it will not be possible to fulfil his wishes.”“Maybe,” suggested O’Rook, “if you open some more o’ the pages you’ll find a name somewheres.”Jack searched as well as the condition of the book would admit of and found at last the name of David Ban—, the latter part of the surname being illegible. He also discovered a lump in one place, which, on being cut into, proved to be a lock of golden hair, in perfect preservation. It was evidently that of a young person.“That’s Lucy’s hair,” said O’Rook promptly. “Blessin’s on her poor heart! Give it me, Philosopher Jack, as well as the book. They both belong to me by rights, ’cause I found ’em; an’ if ever I set futt in old England again, I’ll hunt her up and give ’em to her.”As no one disputed O’Rook’s claim, the book and lock of hair were handed to him.Soon afterwards Polly lay down to rest in her new bower, and her father, with his men, made to themselves comfortable couches around her, under the canopy of the luxuriant shrubs.A week passed. During that period Captain Samson, with Polly, Jack, and Wilkins, walked over the island in all directions to ascertain its size and productions, while the crew of theLively Pollfound full employment in erecting huts of boughs and broad leaves, and in collecting cocoa-nuts and a few other wild fruits and roots.Meanwhile the bottle thrown overboard by Watty Wilkins, with its “message from the sea,” began a long and slow but steady voyage.It may not, perhaps, be known to the reader that there are two mighty currents in the ocean, which never cease to flow. The heated waters of the Equator flow north and south to get cooled at the Poles, and then flow back again from the Poles to get reheated at the Equator.The form of continents, the effect of winds, the motion of the earth, and other influences, modify the flow of this great oceanic current and produce a variety of streams. One of these streams, a warm one, passing up the coast of Africa, is driven into the Gulf of Mexico, from which it crosses the Atlantic to the west coast of Britain, and is familiarly known as the Gulf Stream. If Watty Wilkins’s bottle had been caught by this stream, it would, perhaps, in the course of many months, have been landed on the west of Ireland. If it had been caught by any of the other streams, it might have ended its career on the coasts of Japan, Australia, or any of the many “ends of the earth.” But the bottle came under a more active influence than that of the ocean streams. It was picked up, one calm day, by a British ship, and carried straight to England, where its contents were immediately put into the newspapers, and circulated throughout the land.The effect of little Wilkins’s message from the sea on different minds was various. By some it was read with interest and pathos, while others glanced it over with total indifference. But there were a few on whom the message fell like a thunderbolt, as we shall now proceed to show.

The island on which the raft with its occupants had been cast was of small size, not more than six miles in extent, and lay low in the water. Nevertheless it was covered with luxuriant vegetation, among which were several groves of cocoa-nut palms, the long feathery branches of which waved gracefully in a gentle breeze, as if beckoning an invitation to the castaways on the reef to cross the lagoon and find shelter there. But crossing the lagoon was not an easy matter.

“Shure it’s a mile wide if it’s a futt,” said one of the men as they stood in a group on the reef, dripping and gazing at the isle.

“No, Simon O’Rook,” said Bob Corkey, in that flat contradictions way to which some men are prone; “no, it’s only half a mile if it’s an inch.”

“You’re wrong, both of you,” said Baldwin Burr, “it ain’t more than quarter of a mile. Quite an easy swim for any of us.”

“Except my Polly,” observed the captain quietly.

“Ay, and those who are too weak to swim,” said Watty Wilkins, with a glance at his friend Ben, who had lain down on the sand and listened with a calm untroubled look to the conversation.

“You don’t seem at all anxious,” whispered Polly to Ben.

“No, Polly, I’m not. I have lately been taught how to trust in God by your example.”

“By mine!” exclaimed the child in extreme surprise.

Before Ben could reply the captain turned and called to Polly.

“Come here, my duckey; Edwin Jack offers to swim over the lagoon to the island with you on his back. Will you trust yourself to him?”

“Yes, father,” answered the child promptly.

“But maybe there are sharks,” suggested O’Rook.

There was a momentary silence. In the excitement of the occasion every one had forgotten sharks. What was to be done? The raft was utterly destroyed. Only a few of the logs which had formed it lay on the reef; the rest were floating on the lagoon at various distances, none nearer than fifty yards.

“There’s nothing for it, then, but to reconstruct our raft,” said the captain, throwing off his coat and shoes; “so these logs must be secured.”

He had only taken two steps towards the water when Philosopher Jack grasped his arm.

“Stop, sir, it is your duty to look after Polly. Now lads, those who can swim come along!”

Another instant and he was in the sea, regardless of sharks, and striking out for the floating wreckage, closely followed by O’Rook, Corkey, Burr, and Watty Wilkins. Strange to say, eight other men of the crew could not swim, although they had managed somehow to scramble on the reef. Whether it was that the sharks were not there at the time, or that the number and energy of the swimmers frightened them, we cannot tell, but each man reached a log or plank in safety, and began pushing it towards the reef. It was when they drew near to this that the trial of their courage was most severe. The excitement and gush of daring with which they had plunged in was by that time expended, and the slow motion of the logs gave them time for reflection. O’Rook’s lively fancy troubled him much.

“If the baists would only attack a man in front,” he muttered, “it’s little I’d mind ’em, but to come up behind, sneakin’ like—hooroo!”

At that moment a branch of coral, which projected rather far from the bottom, touched O’Rook’s toe and drew from him an uncontrollable yell of alarm. Baldwin Burr, who swam close behind, was humorously inclined as well as cool. He pushed the plank he was guiding close to his comrade’s back, dipped the end of it, and thrust it down on O’Rook’s legs.

The effect was even more powerful than he had hoped for.

“A shark!—a sha-a-a-rk!” howled O’Rook, and dived under the broken main-yard, which he was piloting ashore. Coming up on the other side, he tried to clamber on it, but it rolled round and dropped him. He went down with a gurgling cry. Again he rose, grasped the spar with his left arm, glared wildly round, and clenched his right hand as if ready to hit on the nose any creature—fish, flesh, or fowl—that should assail him.

“Take it easy, messmate,” said Burr in a quiet tone; “sorry I touched you. Hope it didn’t hurt much.”

“Och! it was you, was it? Sure, I thought it was a shark; well, well, it’s plaised I am to be let off so aisy.”

With this philosophic reflection O’Rook landed with his piece of timber. Enough of material was soon collected to form a raft sufficiently large to ferry half of the party across the lagoon, and in two trips the whole were landed in safety on the island.

“You don’t mean to tell me, Jack,” said Baldwin Burr, “that this island was made by coral insects?”

“Yes, I do!” said Jack.

“From the top to the bottom?” asked Burr.

“From the bottom to the top,” said Edwin.

Baldwin asked this question of the philosopher during a pause in their labours. They were, at the time, engaged in constructing a new bower for Polly among the flowering shrubs under the cocoa-nut palms. Polly herself was aiding them, and the rest of the party were scattered among the bushes, variously employed in breaking down branches, tearing up long grass, and otherwise clearing ground for an encampment.

“How could insects make an island?” asked Polly, sitting down on a bank to rest.

“Don’t you know, Poll?” said Edwin; “why, I thought your father taught you about almost everything.”

“Oh no,” replied Polly, with an innocent smile, “not everything yet, you know, but I daresay he will in the course of time. Tell me about the insects.”

“Well, let me see, how shall I begin?” said Jack, leaning against the bank, and crossing his arms on his breast. “The coral insects, Polly, are very small, some of them not larger than a pin’s head. They are great builders. There is lime in sea-water. The insects, which are called corallines, have the power of attracting this lime to them; drawing it away from the water, so to speak, and fixing it round their own bodies, which is called secreting the lime. Thus they form shells, or houses, to themselves, which they fix at the bottom of the sea. Having laid the basements of their houses close together, they proceed to add upper storeys, and thus they add storey to storey, until they reach the surface of the sea. They work in such innumerable millions that, in course of time, they form reefs and islands, as you see.”

“But Idon’tsee!” said Polly, looking round; “at least, I don’t see corallines working.”

“Ah, good,” said Baldwin, with a nod of approval to the child, as if to say, “You have him there!”

“True,” returned the philosopher, “because the corallines can only work under water. The moment they reach the surface they die; but those that remain continue their labours on the sides of the reef or island, and thus widen it. Then the waves break off masses of coral, and cast them, with drifting sea-weed and other things, up on the reef, which makes it higher; then sea-birds come to rest on it. The winds carry seeds of various plants to it, which take root, grow up, die; and thus thicken the soil by slow degrees, till at last, after a long, long time, the island becomes a pretty large and fertile one like this.”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Polly; “what a clever insect!”

“Clever indeed,” returned Edwin; “especially when we consider that it has got no brains.”

“No brains!” echoed Baldwin.

“No, it has little more than a stomach.”

“Oh! come now,” remonstrated Baldwin; “we can’t believe that, can we, Miss Polly? Even a house-builder must think, much more an island-builder; and no fellow can think with his stomach, you know.”

“Nevertheless, it is as I tell you,” continued Jack, “and these little creatures manage to create hundreds of islands in the Southern Seas, by their perseverance, energy, and united action. Quite an example to man—eh, Baldwin?”

“Ha! just so—a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together. I think we’d better act on the principles of these corry-lines, else Miss Polly’s bower won’t be ready afore dark.”

So saying, the seaman and our philosopher resumed their work with such united energy—aided by Polly herself—that a very comfortable habitation of boughs and large leaves was finished before the day closed. It resembled a large beehive, was overshadowed by dense foliage of a tropical kind, and carpeted with a species of fern.

Polly was profuse in her thanks, and when it was finished, called to her father to come and admire it. The stout mariner at once obeyed the summons. He quitted the pile of firewood on which he had been labouring, and with a violently red face and perspiring brow, appeared on the scene, bearing a mighty axe on his shoulder.

“Splendid!” he exclaimed, with beaming admiration. “It’s fit for the queen of the coral isles.”

“For whom it is intended!” said Philosopher Jack, quickly.

Polly laughed, for she understood the compliment, but suddenly became grave, as she remembered Ben Trench, and said, “No, no; it must be used as a shelter for Ben.”

“That’s kind of you, Polly,” said Watty coming up with a huge bundle of grass and foliage for bedding at the moment; “but Ben has got friends to remember him as well as you. Bob Corkey and I have made him a hut on the other side of the bushes—there, you may see the top of it through the leaves.”

“Does any one know where Mr Luke is?” asked the captain.

None of those assembled at the bower had seen him for some hours, and Captain Samson was on the point of organising a party to go in search of him, when one of the crew came in from the bush and said he had gone off with Simon O’Rook to the highest point of the low islet, to ascertain if possible its extent.

“He’s all right if O’Rook is with him,” said the captain to Polly, in confidence, when they went into the bower together; “but he’s not to be trusted away by himself. I never saw a man more unfit to look after himself.”

“And yet he is a good, kind man, father,” said Polly.

“True, quite true, Poll,” replied the captain, musingly. “I wonder why it is that some men seem as if they had been meant for women; maybe it is by way of balancing those women who seem to have been meant for men!”

Polly listened to this with a look of grave consideration, but not having formed an opinion on the subject, wisely held her tongue.

Meanwhile O’Rook led his companion towards the highest part of the islet, which, being clear of trees, seemed likely to afford them a good outlook. The sailor was a man of inquiring disposition, and, being of a free-and-easy nature, did not hesitate to speak out his mind on all occasions. After walking beside his tall companion and eyeing his thin figure and sad countenance in silence for some time, he said—

“You’re a cadaverous sort o’ man, Mr Luke.”

“Think so?” said Mr Luke, gently.

“Of course; I can’t help thinkin’ so, because I see it,” returned O’Rook. “Was it a fall, now, w’en you was a babby, that did it, or measles?”

“Neither, that I am aware of,” replied Mr Luke, with a good-natured smile; “my father before me was cadaverous.”

“Ah!” said O’Rook, with a look of sympathy, as he touched the region of his heart with his left thumb, “p’r’aps it was somethin’ o’ this sort, eh? I’ve bin through that myself in the ould country, where as purty a—well, well, it’s all over now, but I’ve a fellow-feelin’ for—”

“No,” interrupted Mr Luke, with a sigh, “it wasn’t a disappointment, it was—oh! what a splendid view!”

They had reached the top of the ridge at the moment, and the view of the verdant islet that burst upon them might well have called forth admiration from men of coarser mould than they.

O’Rook forgot for a few minutes the subject of his curiosity, and compared the prospect to some of the beautiful scenery of Ireland, though there was no resemblance whatever between the two. He soon returned, however, to the previous subject of conversation, but Mr Luke had ceased to be communicative.

“What is that lying on the beach there?” he said, pointing in the direction referred to.

“It’s more than I can tell,” answered O’Rook; “looks like a boat, don’t it?”

“Very,” said Mr Luke, “and there is something lying beside it like a man. Come, let’s go see.”

The two explorers went rapidly down the gentle slope that led to the beach, and soon found that the object in question was indeed a boat, old, rotten, and blistered with the sun. Beside it lay the skeleton of a man, with a few rags of the garments that had once formed its clothing still clinging to it here and there. It was a pitiful sight. Evidently the unfortunate man had been cast away in an open boat, and had been thrown on that beach when too much exhausted to make a last struggle for life, for there was no sign of his having wandered from the boat or cut down bushes, or attempted to make a fire. His strength had apparently enabled him to get out of the boat, that was all, and there he had lain down to die.

For some time the two wanderers stood contemplating the sight in silence, and when at length they spoke it was in low, sad tones.

“Poor, poor fellow,” said Mr Luke, “he must have been shipwrecked, like ourselves, and cast adrift in the boat. But I wonder that he is alone; one would expect that some of his comrades must have got into the boat along with him.”

“No doubt,” said O’Rook, “they was all starved at sea and throw’d overboard. Come, Mr Luke, let’s bury him; it’s all we can do for him now.”

Saying this, O’Rook threw off his jacket and, with his companion’s assistance, soon scraped a hole in the sand. Into this they were about to lift the skeleton, when they observed that its right hand covered a decayed remnant of rag, under which was seen a glittering substance. It turned out to be the clasp of a notebook, which, however, was so decayed and glued together that it could not be opened. O’Rook therefore wrapped it in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. Then they buried the skeleton, and rolled a large mass of coral rock upon the grave to mark the spot.

A careful examination was next made of the old boat and the locality around it, but nothing whatever was found to throw light on the fate of the vessel to which the man had belonged.

Returning to the encampment, O’Rook and his companion found their friends busy preparing supper, which consisted of some provisions saved from the raft, and cocoa-nuts.

In a few seconds the whole party was assembled in front of Polly’s bower, listening attentively, while O’Rook described the discovery of the skeleton to the captain, and produced the old notebook. Deep was the interest of every member of that little community as the captain attempted to open the book, and intense was the expression of disappointment on each countenance—especially on that of Polly—when, after a prolonged trial, he utterly failed.

“Let Philosopher Jack try it,” exclaimed Watty Wilkins eagerly.

The captain at once handed the book to Jack with a smile.

“To be sure,” said he, “a philosopher ought to understand the management of books better than a skipper; but when a book is glued hard and fast like that, it may puzzle even a philosopher to master its contents.”

Jack made the attempt, however. He went to work with the calm deliberation of a thorough workman. By the aid of heat and gentle friction and a little moisture, and the judicious use of a penknife, he succeeded at last in opening the book in one or two places. While he was thus engaged, the rest of the party supped and speculated on the probable contents of the book.

“Here is a legible bit at last,” said Jack, “but the writing is very faint. Let me see. It refers to the state of the weather and the wind. The poor man evidently kept a private journal. Ah! here, in the middle of the book, the damp has not had so much effect.”

As he turned and separated the leaves with great care, Jack’s audience gazed at him intently and forgot supper. At last he began to read:—

“‘Saturday, 4th.—Have been three weeks now on short allowance. We are all getting perceptibly weaker. The captain, who is not a strong man, is sinking. The boat is overcrowded. If a gale should spring up we shall all perish. I don’t like the looks of two of the men. They are powerful fellows, and the captain and I believe them to be quite capable of murdering the most of us, and throwing us overboard to save their own lives.’

“‘Saturday, 4th.—Have been three weeks now on short allowance. We are all getting perceptibly weaker. The captain, who is not a strong man, is sinking. The boat is overcrowded. If a gale should spring up we shall all perish. I don’t like the looks of two of the men. They are powerful fellows, and the captain and I believe them to be quite capable of murdering the most of us, and throwing us overboard to save their own lives.’

“Here there is a blank,” said Jack, “and the next date is the 8th, but there is no month or year given. The writing continues:—

“‘I scarce know what has passed during the last few days. It is like a horrible dream. The two men made the attempt, and killed big George, whom they feared most, because of his courage and known fidelity to the captain; but, before they could do further mischief, the second mate shot them both. The boat floats lighter now, and, through God’s mercy, the weather continues fine. Our last ration was served out this morning—two ounces of biscuit each, and a wine-glass of water.Sunday, 11th.—Two days without food. The captain read to us to-day some chapters out of the Bible, those describing the crucifixion of Jesus. Williams and Ranger were deeply impressed, and for the first time seemed to lament their sins, and to speak of themselves as crucifiers of Jesus. The captain’s voice very weak, but he is cheerful and resigned. It is evident thathistrust is in the Lord. He exhorts us frequently. We feel the want of water more than food.Wednesday.—The captain and Williams died yesterday. Ranger drank sea water in desperation. He went mad soon after, and jumped overboard. We tried to save him, but failed. Only three of us are left. If we don’t meet with a ship, or sight an island, it will soon be all over with us.Thursday.—I am alone now. An island is in sight, but I can scarcely raise myself to look at it. I will bind this book to my hand. If any one finds me, let him send it to my beloved wife, Lucy. It will comfort her to know that my last thoughts on earth were of her dear self, and that my soul is resting on my Redeemer. I grow very cold and faint. May God’s best blessing rest—’”

“‘I scarce know what has passed during the last few days. It is like a horrible dream. The two men made the attempt, and killed big George, whom they feared most, because of his courage and known fidelity to the captain; but, before they could do further mischief, the second mate shot them both. The boat floats lighter now, and, through God’s mercy, the weather continues fine. Our last ration was served out this morning—two ounces of biscuit each, and a wine-glass of water.Sunday, 11th.—Two days without food. The captain read to us to-day some chapters out of the Bible, those describing the crucifixion of Jesus. Williams and Ranger were deeply impressed, and for the first time seemed to lament their sins, and to speak of themselves as crucifiers of Jesus. The captain’s voice very weak, but he is cheerful and resigned. It is evident thathistrust is in the Lord. He exhorts us frequently. We feel the want of water more than food.Wednesday.—The captain and Williams died yesterday. Ranger drank sea water in desperation. He went mad soon after, and jumped overboard. We tried to save him, but failed. Only three of us are left. If we don’t meet with a ship, or sight an island, it will soon be all over with us.Thursday.—I am alone now. An island is in sight, but I can scarcely raise myself to look at it. I will bind this book to my hand. If any one finds me, let him send it to my beloved wife, Lucy. It will comfort her to know that my last thoughts on earth were of her dear self, and that my soul is resting on my Redeemer. I grow very cold and faint. May God’s best blessing rest—’”

The voice of the reader stopped suddenly, and for some moments there was a solemn silence, broken only by a sob from Polly Samson.

“Why don’t you go on?” asked the captain.

“There is nothing more,” said Jack sadly. “His strength must have failed him suddenly. It is unfortunate, for, as he has neither signed his name nor given the address of his wife, it will not be possible to fulfil his wishes.”

“Maybe,” suggested O’Rook, “if you open some more o’ the pages you’ll find a name somewheres.”

Jack searched as well as the condition of the book would admit of and found at last the name of David Ban—, the latter part of the surname being illegible. He also discovered a lump in one place, which, on being cut into, proved to be a lock of golden hair, in perfect preservation. It was evidently that of a young person.

“That’s Lucy’s hair,” said O’Rook promptly. “Blessin’s on her poor heart! Give it me, Philosopher Jack, as well as the book. They both belong to me by rights, ’cause I found ’em; an’ if ever I set futt in old England again, I’ll hunt her up and give ’em to her.”

As no one disputed O’Rook’s claim, the book and lock of hair were handed to him.

Soon afterwards Polly lay down to rest in her new bower, and her father, with his men, made to themselves comfortable couches around her, under the canopy of the luxuriant shrubs.

A week passed. During that period Captain Samson, with Polly, Jack, and Wilkins, walked over the island in all directions to ascertain its size and productions, while the crew of theLively Pollfound full employment in erecting huts of boughs and broad leaves, and in collecting cocoa-nuts and a few other wild fruits and roots.

Meanwhile the bottle thrown overboard by Watty Wilkins, with its “message from the sea,” began a long and slow but steady voyage.

It may not, perhaps, be known to the reader that there are two mighty currents in the ocean, which never cease to flow. The heated waters of the Equator flow north and south to get cooled at the Poles, and then flow back again from the Poles to get reheated at the Equator.

The form of continents, the effect of winds, the motion of the earth, and other influences, modify the flow of this great oceanic current and produce a variety of streams. One of these streams, a warm one, passing up the coast of Africa, is driven into the Gulf of Mexico, from which it crosses the Atlantic to the west coast of Britain, and is familiarly known as the Gulf Stream. If Watty Wilkins’s bottle had been caught by this stream, it would, perhaps, in the course of many months, have been landed on the west of Ireland. If it had been caught by any of the other streams, it might have ended its career on the coasts of Japan, Australia, or any of the many “ends of the earth.” But the bottle came under a more active influence than that of the ocean streams. It was picked up, one calm day, by a British ship, and carried straight to England, where its contents were immediately put into the newspapers, and circulated throughout the land.

The effect of little Wilkins’s message from the sea on different minds was various. By some it was read with interest and pathos, while others glanced it over with total indifference. But there were a few on whom the message fell like a thunderbolt, as we shall now proceed to show.

Chapter Five.Tells of Plottings and Trials at Home, with Doings and Dangers Abroad.In a dingy office, in a back street in one of the darkest quarters of the city, whose name we refrain from mentioning, an elderly man sat down one foggy morning, poked the fire, blew his nose, opened his newspaper, and began to read. This man was a part-owner of theLively Poll. His name was Black. Black is a good wearing colour, and not a bad name, but it is not so suitable a term when applied to a man’s character and surroundings. We cannot indeed, say positively that Mr Black’s character was as black as his name, but we are safe in asserting that it was very dirty grey in tone. Mr Black was essentially a dirty little man. His hands and face were dirty, so dirty that his only clerk (a dirty little boy) held the firm belief that the famous soap which is said to wash black men white, could not cleanse his master. His office was dirty, so were his garments, and so was his mean little spirit, which occupied itself exclusively in scraping together a paltry little income, by means of little ways known only to its owner. Mr Black had a soul, he admitted that; but he had no regard for it, and paid no attention to it whatever. Into whatever corner of his being it had been thrust, he had so covered it over and buried it under heaps of rubbish that it was quite lost to sight and almost to memory. He had a conscience also, but had managed to sear it to such an extent that although still alive, it had almost ceased to feel.Turning to the shipping news, Mr Black’s eye was arrested by a message from the sea. He read it, and, as he did so, his hands closed on the newspaper convulsively; his eyes opened, so did his mouth, and his face grew deadly pale—that is to say, it became a light greenish grey.“Anything wrong, sir?” asked the dirty clerk.“TheLively Poll,” gasped Mr Black, “is at the bottom of the sea!”“She’s in a lively position, then,” thought the dirty clerk, who cared no more for theLively Pollthan he did for her part-owner; but he only replied, “O dear!” with a solemn look of hypocritical sympathy.Mr Black seized his hat, rushed out of his office, and paid a sudden visit to his neighbour, Mr Walter Wilkins, senior. That gentleman was in the act of running his eye over his newspaper. He was a wealthy merchant. Turning on his visitor a bland, kindly countenance, he bade him good-morning.“I do hope—excuse me, my dear sir,” said Mr Black excitedly, “I do hope you will see your way to grant me the accommodation I ventured to ask for yesterday. My business is in such a state that this disaster to theLively Poll—”“TheLively Poll!” exclaimed Mr Wilkins, with a start.“Oh, I beg pardon,” said Mr Black, with a confused look, for his seared conscience became slightly sensitive at that moment. “I suppose you have not yet seen it (he pointed to the paragraph); but, excuse me, I cannot understand how you came to know that your son was on board—pardon me—”Mr Wilkins had laid his face in his hands, and groaned aloud, then looking up suddenly, said, “I did not certainly know that my dear boy was on board, but I had too good reason to suspect it, for he had been talking much of the vessel, and disappeared on the day she sailed, and now this message from—”He rose hastily and put on his greatcoat.“Excuse me, my dear sir,” urged Mr Black; “at such a time it may seem selfish to press you on business affairs, but this is a matter of life and death to me—”“It is a matter of death tome,” interrupted the other in a low tone, “but I grant your request. My clerk will arrange it with you.”He left the office abruptly, with a bowed head, and Mr Black having arranged matters to his satisfaction with the clerk, left it soon after, with a sigh of relief. He cared no more for Mr Wilkins’s grief than did the dirty clerk for his master’s troubles.Returning to his dirty office, Mr Black then proceeded to do a stroke of very dingy business.That morning, through some mysterious agency, he had learned that there were rumours of an unfavourable kind in reference to a certain bank in the city, which, for convenience, we shall name the Blankow Bank. Now, it so happened that Mr Black was intimately acquainted with one of the directors of that bank, in whom, as well as in the bank itself, he had the most implicit confidence. Mr Black happened to have a female relative in the city named Mrs Niven—the same Mrs Niven who had been landlady to Philosopher Jack. It was one of the root-principles of Mr Black’s business character that he should make hay while the sun shone. He knew that Mrs Niven owned stock in the Blankow Bank; he knew that the Bank paid its shareholders a very handsome dividend, and he was aware that, owing to the unfavourable rumours then current, the value of the stock would fall very considerably. That, therefore, was the time for knowing men like Mr Black, who believed in the soundness of the bank, to buy. Accordingly he wrote a letter to Mrs Niven, advising her to sell her shares, and offering to transact the business for her, but he omitted to mention that he meant to buy them up himself. He added a postscript on the back, telling of the loss of theLively Poll.Mrs Niven was a kind-hearted woman, as the reader knows; moreover, she was a trusting soul.“Very kind o’ Maister Black,” she observed to Peggy, her maid-of-all-work, on reading the letter. “The Blankow Bank gi’es a high dividend, nae doot, but I’m well enough off, and hae nae need to risk my siller for the sake o’ a pund or twa mair income i’ the year. Fetch me the ink, Peggy.”A letter was quickly written, in which worthy Mrs Niven agreed to her relative’s proposal, and thanked him for the interest he took in her affairs. Having despatched Peggy with it to the post, she re-read Mr Black’s epistle, and in doing so observed the postscript, which, being on the fourth page, had escaped her on the first perusal.“Hoots!” said she, “that’s stipid. I didna notice the PS.” Reading in a low tone, and commenting parenthetically, she continued, “‘By the way, did not one of your lodgers, a student, sail in theLively Poll, (Atweel did he; he teltme, though he telt naebody else, an’ gaed muckle again’mywull) as a common sailor?’ (Common indeed! na, na, he was an uncommon sailor, if he was onything.) ‘If so, you’ll be sorry to learn that theLively Pollis lost, and all her crew and passengers have per—’”Instead of reading “perished” poor Mrs Niven finished the sentence with a shriek, and fell flat on the floor, where she was found soon after, and with difficulty restored to consciousness by the horrified Peggy.That same morning, in his lowly cottage on the Scottish border, Mr John Jack opened a newspaper at the breakfast-table. Besides Mrs Jack there sat at the table four olive branches—two daughters and two sons—the youngest of whom, named Dobbin, was peculiarly noticeable as being up to the eyes in treacle, Dobbin’s chief earthly joy being “treacle pieces.”Mr Jack’s eye soon fell on the message from the sea. Of course he knew nothing of the writer, but recognised the name of the vessel as being that in which his son had sailed for the Southern Seas, for our hero had written to tell of his departure, although he had not asked or waited for advice. Mr Jack was a man of strong nerve. Rising quietly from the table, he left the room, but his wife noticed the expression of his face, and followed him into their bedroom.“What’s wrang, John?”The poor man turned abruptly, drew his wife to him, and pressed her head on his breast.“O Maggie!” he said, in a low husky voice, “‘the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away,’ can you finish the sentence?”“Ay, ‘blessed be the name o’ the Lord,’” said Mrs Jack in a tremulous voice; “but what—”“Listen,” said her husband, and he read out the fatal message.“It canna be—oh! it canna be—that my Teddie is gone,” said the stricken mother, clasping her hands; “I canna, I winna believe it. Are ye sure that was the ship’s name?”“Yes, too sure,” answered her husband. “I’ve mislaid the dear boy’s letter, but I’ll go and see Mrs Niven. He mentioned it, I know, to her.”There was yet another house in Scotland into which the message carried profound grief; namely, that of Bailie Trench. Need we say that the supposed loss of an only son was a crushing blow, rendered all the more terrible by the thought that death had been met so suddenly in a voyage which had been undertaken in search of health?But we will spare the reader further details, and return once more to the Coral Island, where we left the castaways making themselves as comfortable as the nature of the place would admit of.And, truth to tell, there are many people in civilised lands much less comfortably situated than were these same castaways.The weather, as O’Rook said, “was splendacious, almost equal to that of ould Ireland.” Cocoa-nuts and other fruits were abundant. The lagoon swarmed with fish, including sharks, which rendered fishing an excitingly dangerous, as well as enjoyable, pastime. Polly Samson found gardens of coral and seaweed in crystal pools, which she could gaze at and admire for hours, though she could not walk in them. But she could, and did, sympathise with the little fish of varied size and colour which darted about in these water gardens, and Philosopher Jack found in them an inexhaustible theme for discourse to the teachable and inquisitive Baldwin Burr. The captain found enough of employment in directing and planning generally for the whole party. Cutting firewood, gathering nuts and wild fruit, fell to the lot of Bob Corkey; and Simon O’Rook slid naturally into the office of cook. The remainder of the men were employed at various jobs, according to circumstances.Watty Wilkins was a passionate fisher. He divided his time between the lagoon and the couch of his sick friend Bell Trench, who soon began to improve on rest, sunshine, and cocoa-nut milk. As for Mr Luke, being fit for nothing, he was allowed to do very much what he pleased, except at meal times, when O’Rook made him wash the dishes, many of which were merely flat stones. In short, the place was, according to Polly, a sort of paradise, and would have been almost perfect, but for a tendency in one or two of the men to quarrel, and a powerful disposition in Bob Corkey and Simon O’Rook to argue. Though the arguing never quite degenerated into quarrelling, and the quarrelsome men never absolutely came to blows, their tendencies made this coral paradise imperfect.Two of the most troublesome men, named respectively Bounce and Badger, were cured by the captain in the following manner:— They had been quarrelling verbally for half an hour one morning, calling each other names, and threatening, as usual, to fight, but not doing so.“Come, lads, follow me,” said the captain to them sternly, and much to their surprise.He led the way to a neighbouring grove, where he stopped. “Now,” said he, “this is a cool, shady spot. I want to know which of you two is the best man. Come, go to work and fight it out. I’ll see fair play.”Bounce and Badger showed much unwillingness, whereupon the captain buttoned his coat, turned up his wristbands, doubled his enormous fists, and declared that they would have to fight with him if they would not fight with each other.“But we don’t want to fight, sir,” said Bounce, humbly, seeing that the captain was thoroughly in earnest.“Very well, then, shake hands,” said the captain, in a tone so peremptory that the men were fain to obey.“Now, go back to camp together,” said the captain, “and let us have no more boasting—d’ee understand?”They went off at once. After that there was less disagreement and no threatening to fight among the men.One morning—it was a Sunday—the captain called the whole party together after breakfast, and announced the fact that he was going to preach them a sermon.“You see, my lads,” said he, “since you have agreed that I shall continue to be your captain on shore as well as at sea—to be the governor, in short, of this little colony—it is right that we should come to a distinct understanding as to our new position, and be guided by fixed laws. In time I will draw you up a code which I hope will be ratified by yourselves, and will work well. To-day I mean to start by preaching a sermon. I pr’pose to do so every Sunday, and to have family prayers every morning. Is that agreed to?”“Agreed,” said nearly every one. Bounce and Badger laughed, however, supposing that the captain was jesting.But he was very far from jesting. Taking no notice of the laughter, he continued, in an earnest, impressive manner, which enforced respect while he pointed towards the other side of the island—“My lads, the skeleton that lies over yonder furnishes me with a text: ‘One is taken, and another left.’ That poor fellow was taken away from this life. You and I have been left behind. Assuredly we have been left for a good purpose, and the merciful God who has spared us means that we should henceforth live for His glory. My lads, you all know what a blessed thing is a state of peace, and you also know what a miserable thing it is to be for ever quarrelling. Since we landed on this island, we’ve had a little of both. I took in hand to stop the quarrelling the other day, in my own way. P’r’aps it wasn’t altogether my own way either, for I’ve read in the Bible of smiting a scorner, that the simple might take warning. However, be that as it may, that system may serve a turn; but it’s not the straight road to come to a state of peace. If we are to live happily here, my lads, to avoid quarrelling, to honour our Maker, and to prove to each other—as well as to angels and devils, who may be lookin’ on for all that I know—that we stand on a higher level than the brutes, we must square our conduct by the rules and laws laid down by the Prince of Peace, whose desire is that on earth men should live together in peace and goodwill. I’ll now read you some of these laws.”Here the captain drew a small Bible from his pocket, and slowly read the fifth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel, pausing at each verse, and commenting thereon, after his own peculiar fashion, to the surprise of all who heard him; for although all knew the captain to be an upright man, they were not prepared, by his usually stern look and brusque off-hand manner, for the tender spirit and depth of feeling which he now displayed.“Now, my lads,” said he, shutting the book, “that’s all I’ve got to say to you to-day, but before closing, let me ask you to think like men—not like children—about what we have been reading. The service of God is not a mere matter of ceremonies. Jesus Christ came to save you and me, not so much from punishment, as from sin itself. It is a great salvation. Those of you who may have been swimming with the current know and care nothing about the power of sin. If you think you do, my lads, turn up stream. Try to resist sin, and you’ll learn something new. Only those who are made willing and strong by the Spirit of God can do it successfully. No doubt that remark will set adrift a lot o’ thoughts and questions in your minds. To all of them I give you a short text as a good course to steer by: ‘Ask, and ye shall receive.’ Ask light and ask wisdom.“Now, cook,” continued the captain, turning to O’Rook, “go to work and get your dinner under weigh, for talking makes one hungry. Meanwhile, I intend to go and have a short ramble on the sea-shore, and I want to know if there is any small female on this island who wants to go with me.”At this Polly jumped up with a laugh, put her little hand in that of her father, and stood on tiptoe, with upturned face. The captain stooped, received a stiff nor’-wester, and the two went off together.The following night, as the party were seated round the fire finishing supper, Watty Wilkins surprised his friends by rising, clearing his throat, extending his right arm, after the manner of an orator, and delivering himself of the following speech:—“Lady and gentlemen,—I rise on the present occasion, with or without your leave (‘Order,’ from Ben Trench), to make a few pertinent remarks (‘Impertinent,’ from Philosopher Jack) regarding our present strange and felicitous circumstances. (Hear, hear.) Our community is a republic—a glorious republic! Having constituted Captain Samson our governor, pastor, and lawgiver, it has occurred to me that we might, with great advantage to ourselves, institute a college of learning, and, without delay, elect professors. As a stowaway, I would not have presumed to make such a proposal, but, as a free and independent citizen of this republic, I claim the right to be heard; and I now move that we proceed to elect a professor of natural philosophy, natural history, and any other natural or unnatural science that any of us may happen to remember or invent. (Hear, hear, and laughter.) As a student is naturally allied to a professor, and somewhat resembles him—the only difference being that the one knows mostly everything, and the other next to nothing—I further propose that we appoint to this professorship Philosopher Jack, with a salary of gratitude depending on merit, and the duty of lecturing to us every night after supper for our entertainment.”Watty Wilkins sat down amid great applause, and Ben Trench seconded the motion, which was of course carried unanimously.Philosopher Jack at once accepted the professorship, and proceeded then and there to deliver his inaugural address, in which he philosophised of things past, present, and to come, both seriously and humorously, in a way that filled his favourite pupil, Baldwin Burr, with inexpressible delight.When he had finished, Bob Corkey rose, and with an air of intense solemnity said—“Messmates, my lady, fathers, and brethren,—I begs to offer a observation or two. It seems to me that a college with only one professor ain’t quite the thing for this great and enlightened republic. Seems to me; therefore, that we should appint a professor who could spin yarns for our amusement, not to say edification. And, for this end, I moves that we appint Simon O’Rook (great applause), whose gifts in the way o’ story-tellin’, or nat’ral lyin’, so to speak, is unequalled by any nat’ral philosopher on the island.” (Hear, hear, and cheers, mingled with laughter.)This motion was seconded by Bounce, and the appointment was gracefully accepted by O’Rook, who, however, declined taking office till the following night as it was getting late, and he required time to compose his professional lies; but he ventured, as a free citizen of the “noo” republic, to move that the house should adjourn to bed.The idea thus jestingly introduced was so far carried into effect in earnest, that Philosopher Jack did, on many evenings thereafter, amuse and interest his comrades round the camp-fire, by relating many a tale from history, both ancient and modern, with which his memory was well stored. He also proved to himself, as well as to others, the great value of even a small amount of scientific knowledge, by being able to comment on the objects of surrounding nature in a way that invested them with an interest which, to absolutely ignorant men, they could not have possessed.O’Rook also fulfilled his engagements to some extent, being not only able, but willing, to spin long-winded yarns, which, when genuine material failed, he could invent with facility.Thus the time passed pleasantly enough for several weeks, and the shipwrecked crew succeeded in keeping up their spirits, despite the undercurrent of heavy anxiety with which they were oppressed,—as indeed they could scarcely fail to be, when they reflected on the fact that the island, on which they had been cast, lay far out of the ordinary track of ships. This had been ascertained by the captain, who, it may be remembered, had taken his sextant from the ship, and who, the day before the destruction of the raft on the coral reef, had obtained a reliable observation, and fixed their position.But this anxiety was deepened, and a darker gloom was cast over the party, by an incident which happened soon afterwards.It has been said that Watty Wilkins was passionately fond of fishing. This business he prosecuted by means of a small raft, made from the remnants of the old one, which he pushed about with a long pole. But the raft was inconvenient; moreover, it had been more than once nearly upset by a shark. Watty therefore resolved to make a small boat out of the remains of the old boat beside which the skeleton had been found. In this he was so ably assisted by his friends Jack and Ben, that the boat—which was a very small one—was launched in the course of two weeks. A pair of light oars was also made, and in this boat the fishing was prosecuted with redoubled vigour. Sometimes the three friends went off in company; more frequently little Wilkins went out alone.One day he pushed off by himself, and pulled to different parts of the lagoon, casting his line now and then with varying success. The day happened to be unusually calm and bright. When he passed the opening in the reef, the surf appeared less violent than usual, so that he was tempted to pull though it. The breakers were passed in safety, and he soon found himself with a sensation of great delight, floating on the gentle swell of the open sea. He pulled out for a considerable distance, and then cast his lines. So intent was he on these, that he did not observe the approach of a squall till it was almost upon him. Seizing the oars, he pulled towards the island, but he had drifted off shore a considerable distance. The wind, also, was against him. His efforts were vain. In short he was blown out to sea.The desperate anxiety of the poor boy was changed to despair when the island gradually receded and finally disappeared. At first the little boat was nearly swamped, but by clever management of the oars Watty saved it. The squall was short-lived. Before long it again fell calm, and the sky cleared, but nothing was now to be seen save the unbroken circle of the horizon.Who can tell the feelings of the poor youth when night descended on the sea? For hours he sat in the stern-sheets quite motionless, as if stunned. (Note: see frontispiece.) Rowing, he knew, would be of no use, as he might be pulling away from the island instead of towards it. Fastening his jacket to an oar, he set it up as a signal, and sat down helpless and inactive, but his mind was busy as he gazed into the depths of the moonlit sky. He thought of home, of the father whom he had so deeply injured, of the prospects that he had unwittingly blighted, of his comrade Ben Trench, and his other friends on the Coral Island. As he continued to think, conscience rose up and condemned him sternly. Wilkins bowed his head to the condemnation, and admitted that it was just.“Oh!” he cried, in a passion of sudden remorse, “O God! spare me to return home and be a comfort to my father,—my dear, dear father!”He put his face in his hands and wept bitterly. Sitting thus, overcome with sorrow and fatigue, he gradually sank lower and lower, until he slid to the bottom of the boat, and lay at last with his head on the thwart, in profound slumber. He dreamed of home and forgiveness as he floated there, the one solitary black spot on the dark breast of the solemn sea.

In a dingy office, in a back street in one of the darkest quarters of the city, whose name we refrain from mentioning, an elderly man sat down one foggy morning, poked the fire, blew his nose, opened his newspaper, and began to read. This man was a part-owner of theLively Poll. His name was Black. Black is a good wearing colour, and not a bad name, but it is not so suitable a term when applied to a man’s character and surroundings. We cannot indeed, say positively that Mr Black’s character was as black as his name, but we are safe in asserting that it was very dirty grey in tone. Mr Black was essentially a dirty little man. His hands and face were dirty, so dirty that his only clerk (a dirty little boy) held the firm belief that the famous soap which is said to wash black men white, could not cleanse his master. His office was dirty, so were his garments, and so was his mean little spirit, which occupied itself exclusively in scraping together a paltry little income, by means of little ways known only to its owner. Mr Black had a soul, he admitted that; but he had no regard for it, and paid no attention to it whatever. Into whatever corner of his being it had been thrust, he had so covered it over and buried it under heaps of rubbish that it was quite lost to sight and almost to memory. He had a conscience also, but had managed to sear it to such an extent that although still alive, it had almost ceased to feel.

Turning to the shipping news, Mr Black’s eye was arrested by a message from the sea. He read it, and, as he did so, his hands closed on the newspaper convulsively; his eyes opened, so did his mouth, and his face grew deadly pale—that is to say, it became a light greenish grey.

“Anything wrong, sir?” asked the dirty clerk.

“TheLively Poll,” gasped Mr Black, “is at the bottom of the sea!”

“She’s in a lively position, then,” thought the dirty clerk, who cared no more for theLively Pollthan he did for her part-owner; but he only replied, “O dear!” with a solemn look of hypocritical sympathy.

Mr Black seized his hat, rushed out of his office, and paid a sudden visit to his neighbour, Mr Walter Wilkins, senior. That gentleman was in the act of running his eye over his newspaper. He was a wealthy merchant. Turning on his visitor a bland, kindly countenance, he bade him good-morning.

“I do hope—excuse me, my dear sir,” said Mr Black excitedly, “I do hope you will see your way to grant me the accommodation I ventured to ask for yesterday. My business is in such a state that this disaster to theLively Poll—”

“TheLively Poll!” exclaimed Mr Wilkins, with a start.

“Oh, I beg pardon,” said Mr Black, with a confused look, for his seared conscience became slightly sensitive at that moment. “I suppose you have not yet seen it (he pointed to the paragraph); but, excuse me, I cannot understand how you came to know that your son was on board—pardon me—”

Mr Wilkins had laid his face in his hands, and groaned aloud, then looking up suddenly, said, “I did not certainly know that my dear boy was on board, but I had too good reason to suspect it, for he had been talking much of the vessel, and disappeared on the day she sailed, and now this message from—”

He rose hastily and put on his greatcoat.

“Excuse me, my dear sir,” urged Mr Black; “at such a time it may seem selfish to press you on business affairs, but this is a matter of life and death to me—”

“It is a matter of death tome,” interrupted the other in a low tone, “but I grant your request. My clerk will arrange it with you.”

He left the office abruptly, with a bowed head, and Mr Black having arranged matters to his satisfaction with the clerk, left it soon after, with a sigh of relief. He cared no more for Mr Wilkins’s grief than did the dirty clerk for his master’s troubles.

Returning to his dirty office, Mr Black then proceeded to do a stroke of very dingy business.

That morning, through some mysterious agency, he had learned that there were rumours of an unfavourable kind in reference to a certain bank in the city, which, for convenience, we shall name the Blankow Bank. Now, it so happened that Mr Black was intimately acquainted with one of the directors of that bank, in whom, as well as in the bank itself, he had the most implicit confidence. Mr Black happened to have a female relative in the city named Mrs Niven—the same Mrs Niven who had been landlady to Philosopher Jack. It was one of the root-principles of Mr Black’s business character that he should make hay while the sun shone. He knew that Mrs Niven owned stock in the Blankow Bank; he knew that the Bank paid its shareholders a very handsome dividend, and he was aware that, owing to the unfavourable rumours then current, the value of the stock would fall very considerably. That, therefore, was the time for knowing men like Mr Black, who believed in the soundness of the bank, to buy. Accordingly he wrote a letter to Mrs Niven, advising her to sell her shares, and offering to transact the business for her, but he omitted to mention that he meant to buy them up himself. He added a postscript on the back, telling of the loss of theLively Poll.

Mrs Niven was a kind-hearted woman, as the reader knows; moreover, she was a trusting soul.

“Very kind o’ Maister Black,” she observed to Peggy, her maid-of-all-work, on reading the letter. “The Blankow Bank gi’es a high dividend, nae doot, but I’m well enough off, and hae nae need to risk my siller for the sake o’ a pund or twa mair income i’ the year. Fetch me the ink, Peggy.”

A letter was quickly written, in which worthy Mrs Niven agreed to her relative’s proposal, and thanked him for the interest he took in her affairs. Having despatched Peggy with it to the post, she re-read Mr Black’s epistle, and in doing so observed the postscript, which, being on the fourth page, had escaped her on the first perusal.

“Hoots!” said she, “that’s stipid. I didna notice the PS.” Reading in a low tone, and commenting parenthetically, she continued, “‘By the way, did not one of your lodgers, a student, sail in theLively Poll, (Atweel did he; he teltme, though he telt naebody else, an’ gaed muckle again’mywull) as a common sailor?’ (Common indeed! na, na, he was an uncommon sailor, if he was onything.) ‘If so, you’ll be sorry to learn that theLively Pollis lost, and all her crew and passengers have per—’”

Instead of reading “perished” poor Mrs Niven finished the sentence with a shriek, and fell flat on the floor, where she was found soon after, and with difficulty restored to consciousness by the horrified Peggy.

That same morning, in his lowly cottage on the Scottish border, Mr John Jack opened a newspaper at the breakfast-table. Besides Mrs Jack there sat at the table four olive branches—two daughters and two sons—the youngest of whom, named Dobbin, was peculiarly noticeable as being up to the eyes in treacle, Dobbin’s chief earthly joy being “treacle pieces.”

Mr Jack’s eye soon fell on the message from the sea. Of course he knew nothing of the writer, but recognised the name of the vessel as being that in which his son had sailed for the Southern Seas, for our hero had written to tell of his departure, although he had not asked or waited for advice. Mr Jack was a man of strong nerve. Rising quietly from the table, he left the room, but his wife noticed the expression of his face, and followed him into their bedroom.

“What’s wrang, John?”

The poor man turned abruptly, drew his wife to him, and pressed her head on his breast.

“O Maggie!” he said, in a low husky voice, “‘the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away,’ can you finish the sentence?”

“Ay, ‘blessed be the name o’ the Lord,’” said Mrs Jack in a tremulous voice; “but what—”

“Listen,” said her husband, and he read out the fatal message.

“It canna be—oh! it canna be—that my Teddie is gone,” said the stricken mother, clasping her hands; “I canna, I winna believe it. Are ye sure that was the ship’s name?”

“Yes, too sure,” answered her husband. “I’ve mislaid the dear boy’s letter, but I’ll go and see Mrs Niven. He mentioned it, I know, to her.”

There was yet another house in Scotland into which the message carried profound grief; namely, that of Bailie Trench. Need we say that the supposed loss of an only son was a crushing blow, rendered all the more terrible by the thought that death had been met so suddenly in a voyage which had been undertaken in search of health?

But we will spare the reader further details, and return once more to the Coral Island, where we left the castaways making themselves as comfortable as the nature of the place would admit of.

And, truth to tell, there are many people in civilised lands much less comfortably situated than were these same castaways.

The weather, as O’Rook said, “was splendacious, almost equal to that of ould Ireland.” Cocoa-nuts and other fruits were abundant. The lagoon swarmed with fish, including sharks, which rendered fishing an excitingly dangerous, as well as enjoyable, pastime. Polly Samson found gardens of coral and seaweed in crystal pools, which she could gaze at and admire for hours, though she could not walk in them. But she could, and did, sympathise with the little fish of varied size and colour which darted about in these water gardens, and Philosopher Jack found in them an inexhaustible theme for discourse to the teachable and inquisitive Baldwin Burr. The captain found enough of employment in directing and planning generally for the whole party. Cutting firewood, gathering nuts and wild fruit, fell to the lot of Bob Corkey; and Simon O’Rook slid naturally into the office of cook. The remainder of the men were employed at various jobs, according to circumstances.

Watty Wilkins was a passionate fisher. He divided his time between the lagoon and the couch of his sick friend Bell Trench, who soon began to improve on rest, sunshine, and cocoa-nut milk. As for Mr Luke, being fit for nothing, he was allowed to do very much what he pleased, except at meal times, when O’Rook made him wash the dishes, many of which were merely flat stones. In short, the place was, according to Polly, a sort of paradise, and would have been almost perfect, but for a tendency in one or two of the men to quarrel, and a powerful disposition in Bob Corkey and Simon O’Rook to argue. Though the arguing never quite degenerated into quarrelling, and the quarrelsome men never absolutely came to blows, their tendencies made this coral paradise imperfect.

Two of the most troublesome men, named respectively Bounce and Badger, were cured by the captain in the following manner:— They had been quarrelling verbally for half an hour one morning, calling each other names, and threatening, as usual, to fight, but not doing so.

“Come, lads, follow me,” said the captain to them sternly, and much to their surprise.

He led the way to a neighbouring grove, where he stopped. “Now,” said he, “this is a cool, shady spot. I want to know which of you two is the best man. Come, go to work and fight it out. I’ll see fair play.”

Bounce and Badger showed much unwillingness, whereupon the captain buttoned his coat, turned up his wristbands, doubled his enormous fists, and declared that they would have to fight with him if they would not fight with each other.

“But we don’t want to fight, sir,” said Bounce, humbly, seeing that the captain was thoroughly in earnest.

“Very well, then, shake hands,” said the captain, in a tone so peremptory that the men were fain to obey.

“Now, go back to camp together,” said the captain, “and let us have no more boasting—d’ee understand?”

They went off at once. After that there was less disagreement and no threatening to fight among the men.

One morning—it was a Sunday—the captain called the whole party together after breakfast, and announced the fact that he was going to preach them a sermon.

“You see, my lads,” said he, “since you have agreed that I shall continue to be your captain on shore as well as at sea—to be the governor, in short, of this little colony—it is right that we should come to a distinct understanding as to our new position, and be guided by fixed laws. In time I will draw you up a code which I hope will be ratified by yourselves, and will work well. To-day I mean to start by preaching a sermon. I pr’pose to do so every Sunday, and to have family prayers every morning. Is that agreed to?”

“Agreed,” said nearly every one. Bounce and Badger laughed, however, supposing that the captain was jesting.

But he was very far from jesting. Taking no notice of the laughter, he continued, in an earnest, impressive manner, which enforced respect while he pointed towards the other side of the island—

“My lads, the skeleton that lies over yonder furnishes me with a text: ‘One is taken, and another left.’ That poor fellow was taken away from this life. You and I have been left behind. Assuredly we have been left for a good purpose, and the merciful God who has spared us means that we should henceforth live for His glory. My lads, you all know what a blessed thing is a state of peace, and you also know what a miserable thing it is to be for ever quarrelling. Since we landed on this island, we’ve had a little of both. I took in hand to stop the quarrelling the other day, in my own way. P’r’aps it wasn’t altogether my own way either, for I’ve read in the Bible of smiting a scorner, that the simple might take warning. However, be that as it may, that system may serve a turn; but it’s not the straight road to come to a state of peace. If we are to live happily here, my lads, to avoid quarrelling, to honour our Maker, and to prove to each other—as well as to angels and devils, who may be lookin’ on for all that I know—that we stand on a higher level than the brutes, we must square our conduct by the rules and laws laid down by the Prince of Peace, whose desire is that on earth men should live together in peace and goodwill. I’ll now read you some of these laws.”

Here the captain drew a small Bible from his pocket, and slowly read the fifth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel, pausing at each verse, and commenting thereon, after his own peculiar fashion, to the surprise of all who heard him; for although all knew the captain to be an upright man, they were not prepared, by his usually stern look and brusque off-hand manner, for the tender spirit and depth of feeling which he now displayed.

“Now, my lads,” said he, shutting the book, “that’s all I’ve got to say to you to-day, but before closing, let me ask you to think like men—not like children—about what we have been reading. The service of God is not a mere matter of ceremonies. Jesus Christ came to save you and me, not so much from punishment, as from sin itself. It is a great salvation. Those of you who may have been swimming with the current know and care nothing about the power of sin. If you think you do, my lads, turn up stream. Try to resist sin, and you’ll learn something new. Only those who are made willing and strong by the Spirit of God can do it successfully. No doubt that remark will set adrift a lot o’ thoughts and questions in your minds. To all of them I give you a short text as a good course to steer by: ‘Ask, and ye shall receive.’ Ask light and ask wisdom.

“Now, cook,” continued the captain, turning to O’Rook, “go to work and get your dinner under weigh, for talking makes one hungry. Meanwhile, I intend to go and have a short ramble on the sea-shore, and I want to know if there is any small female on this island who wants to go with me.”

At this Polly jumped up with a laugh, put her little hand in that of her father, and stood on tiptoe, with upturned face. The captain stooped, received a stiff nor’-wester, and the two went off together.

The following night, as the party were seated round the fire finishing supper, Watty Wilkins surprised his friends by rising, clearing his throat, extending his right arm, after the manner of an orator, and delivering himself of the following speech:—

“Lady and gentlemen,—I rise on the present occasion, with or without your leave (‘Order,’ from Ben Trench), to make a few pertinent remarks (‘Impertinent,’ from Philosopher Jack) regarding our present strange and felicitous circumstances. (Hear, hear.) Our community is a republic—a glorious republic! Having constituted Captain Samson our governor, pastor, and lawgiver, it has occurred to me that we might, with great advantage to ourselves, institute a college of learning, and, without delay, elect professors. As a stowaway, I would not have presumed to make such a proposal, but, as a free and independent citizen of this republic, I claim the right to be heard; and I now move that we proceed to elect a professor of natural philosophy, natural history, and any other natural or unnatural science that any of us may happen to remember or invent. (Hear, hear, and laughter.) As a student is naturally allied to a professor, and somewhat resembles him—the only difference being that the one knows mostly everything, and the other next to nothing—I further propose that we appoint to this professorship Philosopher Jack, with a salary of gratitude depending on merit, and the duty of lecturing to us every night after supper for our entertainment.”

Watty Wilkins sat down amid great applause, and Ben Trench seconded the motion, which was of course carried unanimously.

Philosopher Jack at once accepted the professorship, and proceeded then and there to deliver his inaugural address, in which he philosophised of things past, present, and to come, both seriously and humorously, in a way that filled his favourite pupil, Baldwin Burr, with inexpressible delight.

When he had finished, Bob Corkey rose, and with an air of intense solemnity said—

“Messmates, my lady, fathers, and brethren,—I begs to offer a observation or two. It seems to me that a college with only one professor ain’t quite the thing for this great and enlightened republic. Seems to me; therefore, that we should appint a professor who could spin yarns for our amusement, not to say edification. And, for this end, I moves that we appint Simon O’Rook (great applause), whose gifts in the way o’ story-tellin’, or nat’ral lyin’, so to speak, is unequalled by any nat’ral philosopher on the island.” (Hear, hear, and cheers, mingled with laughter.)

This motion was seconded by Bounce, and the appointment was gracefully accepted by O’Rook, who, however, declined taking office till the following night as it was getting late, and he required time to compose his professional lies; but he ventured, as a free citizen of the “noo” republic, to move that the house should adjourn to bed.

The idea thus jestingly introduced was so far carried into effect in earnest, that Philosopher Jack did, on many evenings thereafter, amuse and interest his comrades round the camp-fire, by relating many a tale from history, both ancient and modern, with which his memory was well stored. He also proved to himself, as well as to others, the great value of even a small amount of scientific knowledge, by being able to comment on the objects of surrounding nature in a way that invested them with an interest which, to absolutely ignorant men, they could not have possessed.

O’Rook also fulfilled his engagements to some extent, being not only able, but willing, to spin long-winded yarns, which, when genuine material failed, he could invent with facility.

Thus the time passed pleasantly enough for several weeks, and the shipwrecked crew succeeded in keeping up their spirits, despite the undercurrent of heavy anxiety with which they were oppressed,—as indeed they could scarcely fail to be, when they reflected on the fact that the island, on which they had been cast, lay far out of the ordinary track of ships. This had been ascertained by the captain, who, it may be remembered, had taken his sextant from the ship, and who, the day before the destruction of the raft on the coral reef, had obtained a reliable observation, and fixed their position.

But this anxiety was deepened, and a darker gloom was cast over the party, by an incident which happened soon afterwards.

It has been said that Watty Wilkins was passionately fond of fishing. This business he prosecuted by means of a small raft, made from the remnants of the old one, which he pushed about with a long pole. But the raft was inconvenient; moreover, it had been more than once nearly upset by a shark. Watty therefore resolved to make a small boat out of the remains of the old boat beside which the skeleton had been found. In this he was so ably assisted by his friends Jack and Ben, that the boat—which was a very small one—was launched in the course of two weeks. A pair of light oars was also made, and in this boat the fishing was prosecuted with redoubled vigour. Sometimes the three friends went off in company; more frequently little Wilkins went out alone.

One day he pushed off by himself, and pulled to different parts of the lagoon, casting his line now and then with varying success. The day happened to be unusually calm and bright. When he passed the opening in the reef, the surf appeared less violent than usual, so that he was tempted to pull though it. The breakers were passed in safety, and he soon found himself with a sensation of great delight, floating on the gentle swell of the open sea. He pulled out for a considerable distance, and then cast his lines. So intent was he on these, that he did not observe the approach of a squall till it was almost upon him. Seizing the oars, he pulled towards the island, but he had drifted off shore a considerable distance. The wind, also, was against him. His efforts were vain. In short he was blown out to sea.

The desperate anxiety of the poor boy was changed to despair when the island gradually receded and finally disappeared. At first the little boat was nearly swamped, but by clever management of the oars Watty saved it. The squall was short-lived. Before long it again fell calm, and the sky cleared, but nothing was now to be seen save the unbroken circle of the horizon.

Who can tell the feelings of the poor youth when night descended on the sea? For hours he sat in the stern-sheets quite motionless, as if stunned. (Note: see frontispiece.) Rowing, he knew, would be of no use, as he might be pulling away from the island instead of towards it. Fastening his jacket to an oar, he set it up as a signal, and sat down helpless and inactive, but his mind was busy as he gazed into the depths of the moonlit sky. He thought of home, of the father whom he had so deeply injured, of the prospects that he had unwittingly blighted, of his comrade Ben Trench, and his other friends on the Coral Island. As he continued to think, conscience rose up and condemned him sternly. Wilkins bowed his head to the condemnation, and admitted that it was just.

“Oh!” he cried, in a passion of sudden remorse, “O God! spare me to return home and be a comfort to my father,—my dear, dear father!”

He put his face in his hands and wept bitterly. Sitting thus, overcome with sorrow and fatigue, he gradually sank lower and lower, until he slid to the bottom of the boat, and lay at last with his head on the thwart, in profound slumber. He dreamed of home and forgiveness as he floated there, the one solitary black spot on the dark breast of the solemn sea.

Chapter Six.Watty Wilkins is Tried, Comforted, Run Down, Rescued, and Restored.When Watty Wilkins awoke from sleep, the sun was high in the heavens and the sea smooth as a mirror.The poor boy raised himself on one elbow and looked about him, at first with a confused feeling of uncertainty as to where he was. Then the truth burst upon him with overwhelming force. Not only was he alone in a little, half-decayed boat without sail, rudder, or compass, on the great Pacific Ocean, but, with the exception of a few fish, he was without food, and, worst of all, he had not a drop of fresh water.What was to be done? An unspoken prayer ascended from his heart to God, as he rose and seized the oars. A belief that it was needful to act vigorously and at once was strong upon him. For several minutes he relieved his feelings by rowing with all his might. Then he stopped abruptly, and his spirit sank almost in despair as he exclaimed aloud—“What’s the use? I don’t know where the island is. I may only be pulling farther away from it. Oh! what shall I do?”At that moment of extreme depression, the value of having had a God-fearing father who had taught him the Bible was unexpectedly realised, for there flashed into his mind, as if in reply to his question, the words, “Call upon me in the time of trouble; I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.”He pulled in the oars at once, fell on his knees, and, clasping his hands, prayed fervently. Watty had been taught a form of prayer in childhood, and had often used it with little or no regard to its meaning. Now, in his distress, he prayed in earnest. He meant what he said. It followed, also, that he said what he meant. The old form, being quite unsuitable to the occasion, was forgotten, and very homely language indeed was used, but it was sufficient for the purpose. The substance of it was a cry for pardon and deliverance. That which winged it to the Throne of Grace was the name of Jesus Christ.Resuming the oars, he rowed gently; not for the sake of directing the boat, but because a state of inaction was disagreeable, and as he rowed he thought of the promise that had been sent to him. Strange to say, the latter part of it, “Thou shalt glorify me,” seemed to take a stronger hold of his mind than the first. “Yes,” he thought, “the whole promise is true. He will deliver me and make me to glorify Himself in some way or other. Perhaps He will let me live to return home, and be a comfort to my father.”The thought of the sorrow he had caused his father weighed heavier than ever in the poor boy’s mind, and the desire to express his repentance, and, if possible, make his father glad again, became very intense. It seemed to him that a millstone would be removed from his heart if he could be allowed, even for one minute, to hold his father’s hand and say, “Oh, I am so sorry, sorry, sorry that I ran away!” The millstone was not removed at that time, however; but in answer to prayer it was unquestionably lightened.The exercise of rowing and the fresh morning air produced their natural effect ere long on the little castaway. He became ravenously hungry, and turned his eyes inquiringly on the few fish which surged about in the pool of dirty water that had gathered in the bottom of the boat. It was not an inviting breakfast. Watty turned his eyes away from it, looked up into the fair blue sky, and tried to think of other things! But the calls of nature were not to be silenced. Instead of thinking of other things, he somehow thought of bread and butter. He even fell into a species of argument with himself as to whether it would not be uncommonly pleasant in various supposable circumstances, to eat bread without butter. Then he found himself meditating on the delights of butter and jam together, which somehow suggested the scriptural figure of a land flowing with milk and honey.“Oh!” he sighed at this point, “if the sea was only milk and honey—milk even without honey!—what a glorious prospect!”He looked at it as if he half thought it would be transformed under the power of his intense wish. Then he looked again at the floating fish and shuddered. Well might he shudder, for they were contemptible little fish, most of them, with unnaturally large heads, and great staring eyes, as if they had failed, even in death, to get rid of their surprise at being caught. With their mouths opened to the uttermost, they seemed to wish to shout, but couldn’t.“I may as well take them out of the dirty water anyhow,” he muttered, suiting the action to the word, and spreading the fish on the thwart in front of him. Liking their appearance still less in that position, he put them on the thwart behind him, and tried to forget them. Impossible! He might as well have tried to forget his own existence. At last, after holding out as long as possible, the poor boy made up his mind to eat a little. Then he thought, “If I could only cook them; oh! for only one small lump of live coal from the camp fire on—”The thought was checked abruptly, for he suddenly remembered that he had a burning-glass in his trousers pocket. He might perhaps be able to roast them with that—in a somewhat underdone fashion, no doubt—still, any sort of cooking would be better than none!It need scarcely be said that the attempt failed. The only results were a burnt spot or two and a faint odour that served to intensify his hunger. At last he bit a mouthful out of the back of one of the fish, chewed it viciously, swallowed it in a hurry, and felt very sick. The ice was broken, however, and he got on better than he had expected. But when hunger was appeased, there came gradually upon him the far less endurable condition of thirst. He really felt as if he should choke, and once or twice he dipped his baling-dish over the side, but restrained himself on remembering the journal of the skeleton, wherein it was recorded that one of the men had gone mad after drinking salt water.Towards the afternoon hope was revived in his breast by the appearance of clouds indicating rain. It came at last, in a soft gentle shower—far too gentle, indeed, for it could not be collected. What dropped upon the wooden baling-dish seemed to sink into or evaporate off it. The few drops that fell upon his patiently protruded tongue served only to tantalise him. But Watty was not prone to give way to despair; at least, not to remain in that condition. He took off his jacket, spread it out so as to form a basin, and eagerly watched the result. Alas! the cloth was too soft. It acted like a sponge, into which the rain-drops disappeared.When it became evident that the coat was a failure—refusing even to part with a single drop when wrung,—Watty chanced to cast down his eyes, and they naturally fell on his trousers. They were stiff canvas trousers, and very greasy from much service among the dishes. Instantly he had them off, and spread out as the coat had been. Joy inexpressible—they held water! To convert the body of them into a lake and the legs into two water-courses was not difficult for one whose ingenuity was beyond the average. But oh! the lake basin was slow to gather the precious drops! He caused the two legs to debouch into the baling-dish, and watched eagerly for half an hour, at the end of which period about a wineglassful was collected. He sucked it in, to the last drop, and waited for more. It seemed as if the very sky sympathised with the boy’s distress, for soon afterwards the rain increased, then it poured, and finally, Watty Wilkins was more than satisfied, he was drenched. Fortunately the downpour was short-lived. It ceased suddenly; the clouds broke up, and the evening sun came out in full splendour, enabling him to partially dry his garments.In the Southern Seas at that time, the weather was particularly warm, so that our castaway felt no inconvenience from his ducking, and spent the second night in comparative comfort, his dreams—if he had any—being untroubled with visions of food or drink. Once, indeed, he awoke, and, looking up, recalled so vividly the fate of the man who had been cast alone and dying on the Coral Island, that he became deeply depressed by the thought of meeting a similar fate; but the text of the previous day again recurred to him. Clinging to it, he again fell asleep, and did not wake till morning.Looking over the side, he saw what sent a gush of hope and joy to his heart. A ship, under full sail, not half a mile off! He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Was he dreaming? Could it be?He sprang up with a cry of delight and gave vent to a long, loud cheer, as much to relieve his feelings as to attract attention. It was almost too good to be true, he thought. Then a voice within whispered, “Did you not ask for deliverance?” and the boy mentally responded, “Yes, thank God, I did.”While he was thinking, his hands were busy refastening his jacket (which he had taken down to sleep in) by a sleeve to its former place at the end of an oar. But there was no occasion to signal. The vessel, a barque, was running straight towards him before a light breeze under full sail—as Baldwin Burr would have said, with “stuns’ls slow and aloft.” Believing that he had been observed, he ceased waving his flag of distress.But soon a new idea sent a thrill through his heart. No sign of recognition was made to him as the ship drew near. Evidently the look-out was careless.Leaping up, Watty seized the oar, waved his flag frantically, and yelled out his alarm. Still the ship bore majestically down on him, her huge bow bulking larger and higher as she drew near. Again Watty yelled, loud and long, and waved his flag furiously. The ship was close upon him—seemed almost towering over him. He saw a sailor appear lazily at the bow with his hands in his pockets. He saw the eyes of that seaman suddenly display their whites, and his hands, with the ten fingers extended, fly upwards. He heard a tremendous “Starboard ha-a-a-rd!” followed by a terrific “Starboard it is!” Then there was a crashing of rotten wood, a fearful rushing of water in his ears, a bursting desire to breathe, and a dreadful thrusting downwards into a dark abyss. Even in that moment of extremity the text of the morning flashed through his whirling brain—then all was still.When Watty’s mind resumed its office, its owner found himself in a comfortable berth between warm blankets with a hot bottle at his feet, and the taste of hot brandy-and-water in his mouth. A man with a rough hairy visage was gazing earnestly into his face.“Wall, youngster, I guess,” said the man, “that you’d pretty nigh slipped your cable.”Watty felt thankful that he had not quite slipped his cable, and said so.“You went over me, I think,” he added.“Over you! Yes, I just think we did. You went down at the bows—I see’d you myself—and came up at the starn. The cap’n, he see’d you come up, an’ said you bounced out o’ the water like the cork of a soda-water bottle. But here he comes himself. He told me I wasn’t to speak much to you.”The captain, who was an American, with a sharp-featured and firm but kindly countenance, entered the berth at the moment.“Well, my boy, glad to see you revived. You had a narrow escape. Wouldn’t have been so if it hadn’t chanced that one of our worst men was the look-out—or rather wasn’t the look-out. However, you’re all right now. Your ship went down, I expect, not long since?”“About three or four months ago,” answered Watty.“Come, boy, your mind hasn’t got quite on the balance yet. It ain’t possible that you could be as fat as a young pig after bein’ three or four months at sea in an open boat. What was the name of your ship?”“TheLively Poll.”“What! a Scotch ship?”“Yes; part owned and commanded by Captain Samson.”“Iknow him; met him once in Glasgow. A big, rough-bearded, hearty fellow—six foot two or thereabouts. Didn’t go down with his ship, did he?” asked the captain with a look of anxiety.“No,” replied Watty with increasing interest in the American; “we escaped on a raft to an island, off which I was blown, while alone in my boat only two days ago.”“Only two days ago, boy!” echoed the captain, starting up; “d’you happen to know the direction of that island?”Watty did not know, of course, having had no compass in his boat; but he fortunately remembered what Captain Samson had said when he had ascertained the latitude and longitude of it.“Mr Barnes,” shouted the captain to the first mate, who stood on deck near the open skylight, “how’s her head?”“Sou’-sou’-west, sir.”“Put her about and lay your course west and by north. Now,” said the captain, turning again to Watty, with a look of satisfaction, “we’ll soon rescue Captain Samson and his crew. I’m sorry I won’t be able to take you all back to England, because we are bound for San Francisco, but a trip to California is preferable to life on a coral island. Now, boy, I’ve talked enough to you. The steward will bring you some dinner. If you feel disposed, you may get up after that. Here are dry clothes for you. We ripped up your own to save time after hauling you out of the sea.”It was not usual for the gentle Polly Samson to alarm the camp with a shriek that would have done credit to a mad cockatoo, nevertheless, she did commit this outrage on the feelings of her companions on the afternoon of the day on which Watty was run down and rescued.Her father and all the others were seated around the camp fire among the bushes at the time. Polly had left them, intending to pay a visit to one of her beautiful water-gardens on the beach, and had just emerged from the bushes and cast her eyes upon the sea, when she beheld the sight that drew from her the shriek referred to. She gave it forth in an ascending scale.“Oh! Oh!! Oh!!! father! come here! quick! quick! oh!”Never since he was a boy had the captain jumped so sharply from a sitting posture to his legs. Every man followed suit like a Jack-in-the-box. There was a rush as if of a tempest through the bushes, and next moment the whole party burst upon the scene, to find Polly—not as they had feared in some deadly peril, but—with flashing eyes and glowing cheeks waving her arms like a windmill, and shrieking with joy at a ship which was making straight for the island under full sail.The captain greeted the sight with a bass roar, Philosopher Jack with a stentorian shout. Ben Trench did his best to follow Jack’s example. Simon O’Rook uttered an Irish howl, threw his cap into the air, and forthwith began an impromptu hornpipe, in which he was joined by Bob Corkey. Baldwin Burr and his comrades vented their feelings in prolonged British cheers, and Mr Luke, uttering a squeak like a wounded rabbit, went about wanting to embrace everybody, but nobody would let him. In short every one went more or less mad with joy at this sudden realisation of “hope long deferred.” Only then did they become fully aware of the depth of anxiety which had oppressed them at the thought of being left, perhaps for years, it might be to the end of their days, on that unknown island.As the vessel approached, it became apparent that there was some one on board whose temporary insanity was as demonstrative as their own, so wild were his gesticulations.“It’s too fur off,” said Baldwin, “to make out the crittur’s phisog; but if it warn’t for his size, I’d say he was a monkey.”“P’r’aps it’s an ourang-outang,” suggested Corkey.“Or a gorilla,” said O’Rook.“Oh!” exclaimed Polly, in a low, eager voice of surprise, “I do believe it is Watty Wilkins!”“Polly is right,” said Philosopher Jack; “I’d know Watty’s action among a thousand.”As he spoke, the vessel rounded-to outside the reef, backed her top-sails, and lowered a boat. At the same time the excited figure disappeared from her bow, and reappeared, wilder than ever, in the stern of the boat. As it crossed the lagoon, the voice of Watty became audible, and was responded to by a succession of hearty cheers, in the midst of which the boat was run ashore. The excited lad sprang on the beach, and was almost annihilated by the species of miscellaneous embracing that he immediately underwent.Need we say that Captain Samson and his men were only too thankful to have such an opportunity of deliverance? They at once accepted the offer of the American captain, embarked in his ship the following morning, passed Cape Horn not long after, sailed up the coast of South America, and, in course of time, cast anchor in the renowned harbour of San Francisco.At the time of which we write, the excitement about the gold-fields of California was at its highest pitch. Men were flocking to that region from all parts of the earth. Fortunes were being made by some in a few months, and lost by others, at the gaming-tables, in a few days, or even hours. While a few gained a competence, many gained only a bare subsistence; thousands lost their health, and not a few their lives. It was a strange play that men enacted there, embracing all the confusion, glitter, rapid change of scene, burlesque, and comedy of a pantomime, with many a dash of darkest tragedy intermingled. Tents were pitched in all directions, houses were hastily run up, restaurants of all kinds were opened, boats were turned keel up and converted into cottages, while ships were stranded or lying idle at their anchors for want of crews, who had made off to that mighty centre of attraction, the diggings.Arrived at San Francisco, Captain Samson and his crew were landed one fine morning at an early hour, and went up to a modest-looking hotel, without any definite idea as to what was best to be done in their peculiar circumstances. Feeling a strange sensation of helplessness in the midst of so much turmoil and human energy, after their quiet sojourn on the Coral Island, they kept together like a flock of sheep, and wandered about the town. Then they returned to their hotel and had luncheon, for which so large a sum was demanded, that they resolved to return on board at once, and ask the American captain’s advice.They found their deliverer pacing his quarterdeck, with his hands in his pockets, and a stern frown on his countenance. He was quite alone, and the vessel wore an unusually quiet air.“Nothing wrong, I hope,” said Captain Samson, as he stepped over the gangway.“Everything wrong,” replied the American; “crew skedaddled.”“What! bolted?”“Ay, every man, to the diggin’s.”“What will you do?” asked Captain Samson, in a sympathetic tone.“Sell off the ship and cargo for what they’ll fetch, and go to the diggin’s too,” replied the other. “Moreover, I’d strongly recommend you to do the same.”“What say you to that advice, Philosopher Jack?” asked Captain Samson, turning to our hero, with a peculiar smile.“I say,” answered the philosopher, returning the smile, “that the advice requires consideration.”“Cautiously replied; and what says my Polly?” continued the captain.“I say whatever you say, father.”“Ah! Poll, Poll, that sort of answer don’t help one much. However, we’ll call a council of war, and discuss the matter seriously; but, first of all, let’s see how the wind blows. How doyoufeel inclined, Ben Trench? Bein’ the invalid of our party, so to speak, you’re entitled, I think, to speak first.”“I say, Go,” replied Ben.“And I say ditto,” burst from Watty Wilkins with powerful emphasis.“You wasn’t axed yet,” observed Bob Corkey. “Besides, stowaways have no right to speak at all.”“What says Mr Luke!” continued the captain.“Don’t go,” answered Mr Luke feebly.“Now, lads,” said the captain, after putting the question to the others, “we’ll go in for the pros and cons.”They went in for the pros and cons accordingly, and after an animated debate, resolved that the path of duty, as well as that of interest and propriety, lay in the direction of the diggings.Having settled the matter, and gathered together into a common fund the small amount of cash and property which each had saved from the wreck, they went ashore, purchased the articles necessary for their expedition, and followed the great stream of Californian gold-diggers.We shall join them, but let not the reader suppose that we intend to bore him or her with the statistics and details of Californian gold-digging. It is our purpose only to touch lightly on those salient points in the adventures of our wanderers which had a more or less direct bearing on the great issues of their lives.

When Watty Wilkins awoke from sleep, the sun was high in the heavens and the sea smooth as a mirror.

The poor boy raised himself on one elbow and looked about him, at first with a confused feeling of uncertainty as to where he was. Then the truth burst upon him with overwhelming force. Not only was he alone in a little, half-decayed boat without sail, rudder, or compass, on the great Pacific Ocean, but, with the exception of a few fish, he was without food, and, worst of all, he had not a drop of fresh water.

What was to be done? An unspoken prayer ascended from his heart to God, as he rose and seized the oars. A belief that it was needful to act vigorously and at once was strong upon him. For several minutes he relieved his feelings by rowing with all his might. Then he stopped abruptly, and his spirit sank almost in despair as he exclaimed aloud—

“What’s the use? I don’t know where the island is. I may only be pulling farther away from it. Oh! what shall I do?”

At that moment of extreme depression, the value of having had a God-fearing father who had taught him the Bible was unexpectedly realised, for there flashed into his mind, as if in reply to his question, the words, “Call upon me in the time of trouble; I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.”

He pulled in the oars at once, fell on his knees, and, clasping his hands, prayed fervently. Watty had been taught a form of prayer in childhood, and had often used it with little or no regard to its meaning. Now, in his distress, he prayed in earnest. He meant what he said. It followed, also, that he said what he meant. The old form, being quite unsuitable to the occasion, was forgotten, and very homely language indeed was used, but it was sufficient for the purpose. The substance of it was a cry for pardon and deliverance. That which winged it to the Throne of Grace was the name of Jesus Christ.

Resuming the oars, he rowed gently; not for the sake of directing the boat, but because a state of inaction was disagreeable, and as he rowed he thought of the promise that had been sent to him. Strange to say, the latter part of it, “Thou shalt glorify me,” seemed to take a stronger hold of his mind than the first. “Yes,” he thought, “the whole promise is true. He will deliver me and make me to glorify Himself in some way or other. Perhaps He will let me live to return home, and be a comfort to my father.”

The thought of the sorrow he had caused his father weighed heavier than ever in the poor boy’s mind, and the desire to express his repentance, and, if possible, make his father glad again, became very intense. It seemed to him that a millstone would be removed from his heart if he could be allowed, even for one minute, to hold his father’s hand and say, “Oh, I am so sorry, sorry, sorry that I ran away!” The millstone was not removed at that time, however; but in answer to prayer it was unquestionably lightened.

The exercise of rowing and the fresh morning air produced their natural effect ere long on the little castaway. He became ravenously hungry, and turned his eyes inquiringly on the few fish which surged about in the pool of dirty water that had gathered in the bottom of the boat. It was not an inviting breakfast. Watty turned his eyes away from it, looked up into the fair blue sky, and tried to think of other things! But the calls of nature were not to be silenced. Instead of thinking of other things, he somehow thought of bread and butter. He even fell into a species of argument with himself as to whether it would not be uncommonly pleasant in various supposable circumstances, to eat bread without butter. Then he found himself meditating on the delights of butter and jam together, which somehow suggested the scriptural figure of a land flowing with milk and honey.

“Oh!” he sighed at this point, “if the sea was only milk and honey—milk even without honey!—what a glorious prospect!”

He looked at it as if he half thought it would be transformed under the power of his intense wish. Then he looked again at the floating fish and shuddered. Well might he shudder, for they were contemptible little fish, most of them, with unnaturally large heads, and great staring eyes, as if they had failed, even in death, to get rid of their surprise at being caught. With their mouths opened to the uttermost, they seemed to wish to shout, but couldn’t.

“I may as well take them out of the dirty water anyhow,” he muttered, suiting the action to the word, and spreading the fish on the thwart in front of him. Liking their appearance still less in that position, he put them on the thwart behind him, and tried to forget them. Impossible! He might as well have tried to forget his own existence. At last, after holding out as long as possible, the poor boy made up his mind to eat a little. Then he thought, “If I could only cook them; oh! for only one small lump of live coal from the camp fire on—”

The thought was checked abruptly, for he suddenly remembered that he had a burning-glass in his trousers pocket. He might perhaps be able to roast them with that—in a somewhat underdone fashion, no doubt—still, any sort of cooking would be better than none!

It need scarcely be said that the attempt failed. The only results were a burnt spot or two and a faint odour that served to intensify his hunger. At last he bit a mouthful out of the back of one of the fish, chewed it viciously, swallowed it in a hurry, and felt very sick. The ice was broken, however, and he got on better than he had expected. But when hunger was appeased, there came gradually upon him the far less endurable condition of thirst. He really felt as if he should choke, and once or twice he dipped his baling-dish over the side, but restrained himself on remembering the journal of the skeleton, wherein it was recorded that one of the men had gone mad after drinking salt water.

Towards the afternoon hope was revived in his breast by the appearance of clouds indicating rain. It came at last, in a soft gentle shower—far too gentle, indeed, for it could not be collected. What dropped upon the wooden baling-dish seemed to sink into or evaporate off it. The few drops that fell upon his patiently protruded tongue served only to tantalise him. But Watty was not prone to give way to despair; at least, not to remain in that condition. He took off his jacket, spread it out so as to form a basin, and eagerly watched the result. Alas! the cloth was too soft. It acted like a sponge, into which the rain-drops disappeared.

When it became evident that the coat was a failure—refusing even to part with a single drop when wrung,—Watty chanced to cast down his eyes, and they naturally fell on his trousers. They were stiff canvas trousers, and very greasy from much service among the dishes. Instantly he had them off, and spread out as the coat had been. Joy inexpressible—they held water! To convert the body of them into a lake and the legs into two water-courses was not difficult for one whose ingenuity was beyond the average. But oh! the lake basin was slow to gather the precious drops! He caused the two legs to debouch into the baling-dish, and watched eagerly for half an hour, at the end of which period about a wineglassful was collected. He sucked it in, to the last drop, and waited for more. It seemed as if the very sky sympathised with the boy’s distress, for soon afterwards the rain increased, then it poured, and finally, Watty Wilkins was more than satisfied, he was drenched. Fortunately the downpour was short-lived. It ceased suddenly; the clouds broke up, and the evening sun came out in full splendour, enabling him to partially dry his garments.

In the Southern Seas at that time, the weather was particularly warm, so that our castaway felt no inconvenience from his ducking, and spent the second night in comparative comfort, his dreams—if he had any—being untroubled with visions of food or drink. Once, indeed, he awoke, and, looking up, recalled so vividly the fate of the man who had been cast alone and dying on the Coral Island, that he became deeply depressed by the thought of meeting a similar fate; but the text of the previous day again recurred to him. Clinging to it, he again fell asleep, and did not wake till morning.

Looking over the side, he saw what sent a gush of hope and joy to his heart. A ship, under full sail, not half a mile off! He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Was he dreaming? Could it be?

He sprang up with a cry of delight and gave vent to a long, loud cheer, as much to relieve his feelings as to attract attention. It was almost too good to be true, he thought. Then a voice within whispered, “Did you not ask for deliverance?” and the boy mentally responded, “Yes, thank God, I did.”

While he was thinking, his hands were busy refastening his jacket (which he had taken down to sleep in) by a sleeve to its former place at the end of an oar. But there was no occasion to signal. The vessel, a barque, was running straight towards him before a light breeze under full sail—as Baldwin Burr would have said, with “stuns’ls slow and aloft.” Believing that he had been observed, he ceased waving his flag of distress.

But soon a new idea sent a thrill through his heart. No sign of recognition was made to him as the ship drew near. Evidently the look-out was careless.

Leaping up, Watty seized the oar, waved his flag frantically, and yelled out his alarm. Still the ship bore majestically down on him, her huge bow bulking larger and higher as she drew near. Again Watty yelled, loud and long, and waved his flag furiously. The ship was close upon him—seemed almost towering over him. He saw a sailor appear lazily at the bow with his hands in his pockets. He saw the eyes of that seaman suddenly display their whites, and his hands, with the ten fingers extended, fly upwards. He heard a tremendous “Starboard ha-a-a-rd!” followed by a terrific “Starboard it is!” Then there was a crashing of rotten wood, a fearful rushing of water in his ears, a bursting desire to breathe, and a dreadful thrusting downwards into a dark abyss. Even in that moment of extremity the text of the morning flashed through his whirling brain—then all was still.

When Watty’s mind resumed its office, its owner found himself in a comfortable berth between warm blankets with a hot bottle at his feet, and the taste of hot brandy-and-water in his mouth. A man with a rough hairy visage was gazing earnestly into his face.

“Wall, youngster, I guess,” said the man, “that you’d pretty nigh slipped your cable.”

Watty felt thankful that he had not quite slipped his cable, and said so.

“You went over me, I think,” he added.

“Over you! Yes, I just think we did. You went down at the bows—I see’d you myself—and came up at the starn. The cap’n, he see’d you come up, an’ said you bounced out o’ the water like the cork of a soda-water bottle. But here he comes himself. He told me I wasn’t to speak much to you.”

The captain, who was an American, with a sharp-featured and firm but kindly countenance, entered the berth at the moment.

“Well, my boy, glad to see you revived. You had a narrow escape. Wouldn’t have been so if it hadn’t chanced that one of our worst men was the look-out—or rather wasn’t the look-out. However, you’re all right now. Your ship went down, I expect, not long since?”

“About three or four months ago,” answered Watty.

“Come, boy, your mind hasn’t got quite on the balance yet. It ain’t possible that you could be as fat as a young pig after bein’ three or four months at sea in an open boat. What was the name of your ship?”

“TheLively Poll.”

“What! a Scotch ship?”

“Yes; part owned and commanded by Captain Samson.”

“Iknow him; met him once in Glasgow. A big, rough-bearded, hearty fellow—six foot two or thereabouts. Didn’t go down with his ship, did he?” asked the captain with a look of anxiety.

“No,” replied Watty with increasing interest in the American; “we escaped on a raft to an island, off which I was blown, while alone in my boat only two days ago.”

“Only two days ago, boy!” echoed the captain, starting up; “d’you happen to know the direction of that island?”

Watty did not know, of course, having had no compass in his boat; but he fortunately remembered what Captain Samson had said when he had ascertained the latitude and longitude of it.

“Mr Barnes,” shouted the captain to the first mate, who stood on deck near the open skylight, “how’s her head?”

“Sou’-sou’-west, sir.”

“Put her about and lay your course west and by north. Now,” said the captain, turning again to Watty, with a look of satisfaction, “we’ll soon rescue Captain Samson and his crew. I’m sorry I won’t be able to take you all back to England, because we are bound for San Francisco, but a trip to California is preferable to life on a coral island. Now, boy, I’ve talked enough to you. The steward will bring you some dinner. If you feel disposed, you may get up after that. Here are dry clothes for you. We ripped up your own to save time after hauling you out of the sea.”

It was not usual for the gentle Polly Samson to alarm the camp with a shriek that would have done credit to a mad cockatoo, nevertheless, she did commit this outrage on the feelings of her companions on the afternoon of the day on which Watty was run down and rescued.

Her father and all the others were seated around the camp fire among the bushes at the time. Polly had left them, intending to pay a visit to one of her beautiful water-gardens on the beach, and had just emerged from the bushes and cast her eyes upon the sea, when she beheld the sight that drew from her the shriek referred to. She gave it forth in an ascending scale.

“Oh! Oh!! Oh!!! father! come here! quick! quick! oh!”

Never since he was a boy had the captain jumped so sharply from a sitting posture to his legs. Every man followed suit like a Jack-in-the-box. There was a rush as if of a tempest through the bushes, and next moment the whole party burst upon the scene, to find Polly—not as they had feared in some deadly peril, but—with flashing eyes and glowing cheeks waving her arms like a windmill, and shrieking with joy at a ship which was making straight for the island under full sail.

The captain greeted the sight with a bass roar, Philosopher Jack with a stentorian shout. Ben Trench did his best to follow Jack’s example. Simon O’Rook uttered an Irish howl, threw his cap into the air, and forthwith began an impromptu hornpipe, in which he was joined by Bob Corkey. Baldwin Burr and his comrades vented their feelings in prolonged British cheers, and Mr Luke, uttering a squeak like a wounded rabbit, went about wanting to embrace everybody, but nobody would let him. In short every one went more or less mad with joy at this sudden realisation of “hope long deferred.” Only then did they become fully aware of the depth of anxiety which had oppressed them at the thought of being left, perhaps for years, it might be to the end of their days, on that unknown island.

As the vessel approached, it became apparent that there was some one on board whose temporary insanity was as demonstrative as their own, so wild were his gesticulations.

“It’s too fur off,” said Baldwin, “to make out the crittur’s phisog; but if it warn’t for his size, I’d say he was a monkey.”

“P’r’aps it’s an ourang-outang,” suggested Corkey.

“Or a gorilla,” said O’Rook.

“Oh!” exclaimed Polly, in a low, eager voice of surprise, “I do believe it is Watty Wilkins!”

“Polly is right,” said Philosopher Jack; “I’d know Watty’s action among a thousand.”

As he spoke, the vessel rounded-to outside the reef, backed her top-sails, and lowered a boat. At the same time the excited figure disappeared from her bow, and reappeared, wilder than ever, in the stern of the boat. As it crossed the lagoon, the voice of Watty became audible, and was responded to by a succession of hearty cheers, in the midst of which the boat was run ashore. The excited lad sprang on the beach, and was almost annihilated by the species of miscellaneous embracing that he immediately underwent.

Need we say that Captain Samson and his men were only too thankful to have such an opportunity of deliverance? They at once accepted the offer of the American captain, embarked in his ship the following morning, passed Cape Horn not long after, sailed up the coast of South America, and, in course of time, cast anchor in the renowned harbour of San Francisco.

At the time of which we write, the excitement about the gold-fields of California was at its highest pitch. Men were flocking to that region from all parts of the earth. Fortunes were being made by some in a few months, and lost by others, at the gaming-tables, in a few days, or even hours. While a few gained a competence, many gained only a bare subsistence; thousands lost their health, and not a few their lives. It was a strange play that men enacted there, embracing all the confusion, glitter, rapid change of scene, burlesque, and comedy of a pantomime, with many a dash of darkest tragedy intermingled. Tents were pitched in all directions, houses were hastily run up, restaurants of all kinds were opened, boats were turned keel up and converted into cottages, while ships were stranded or lying idle at their anchors for want of crews, who had made off to that mighty centre of attraction, the diggings.

Arrived at San Francisco, Captain Samson and his crew were landed one fine morning at an early hour, and went up to a modest-looking hotel, without any definite idea as to what was best to be done in their peculiar circumstances. Feeling a strange sensation of helplessness in the midst of so much turmoil and human energy, after their quiet sojourn on the Coral Island, they kept together like a flock of sheep, and wandered about the town. Then they returned to their hotel and had luncheon, for which so large a sum was demanded, that they resolved to return on board at once, and ask the American captain’s advice.

They found their deliverer pacing his quarterdeck, with his hands in his pockets, and a stern frown on his countenance. He was quite alone, and the vessel wore an unusually quiet air.

“Nothing wrong, I hope,” said Captain Samson, as he stepped over the gangway.

“Everything wrong,” replied the American; “crew skedaddled.”

“What! bolted?”

“Ay, every man, to the diggin’s.”

“What will you do?” asked Captain Samson, in a sympathetic tone.

“Sell off the ship and cargo for what they’ll fetch, and go to the diggin’s too,” replied the other. “Moreover, I’d strongly recommend you to do the same.”

“What say you to that advice, Philosopher Jack?” asked Captain Samson, turning to our hero, with a peculiar smile.

“I say,” answered the philosopher, returning the smile, “that the advice requires consideration.”

“Cautiously replied; and what says my Polly?” continued the captain.

“I say whatever you say, father.”

“Ah! Poll, Poll, that sort of answer don’t help one much. However, we’ll call a council of war, and discuss the matter seriously; but, first of all, let’s see how the wind blows. How doyoufeel inclined, Ben Trench? Bein’ the invalid of our party, so to speak, you’re entitled, I think, to speak first.”

“I say, Go,” replied Ben.

“And I say ditto,” burst from Watty Wilkins with powerful emphasis.

“You wasn’t axed yet,” observed Bob Corkey. “Besides, stowaways have no right to speak at all.”

“What says Mr Luke!” continued the captain.

“Don’t go,” answered Mr Luke feebly.

“Now, lads,” said the captain, after putting the question to the others, “we’ll go in for the pros and cons.”

They went in for the pros and cons accordingly, and after an animated debate, resolved that the path of duty, as well as that of interest and propriety, lay in the direction of the diggings.

Having settled the matter, and gathered together into a common fund the small amount of cash and property which each had saved from the wreck, they went ashore, purchased the articles necessary for their expedition, and followed the great stream of Californian gold-diggers.

We shall join them, but let not the reader suppose that we intend to bore him or her with the statistics and details of Californian gold-digging. It is our purpose only to touch lightly on those salient points in the adventures of our wanderers which had a more or less direct bearing on the great issues of their lives.

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