up the ends of the first tent with the canvas and sails he had brought on shore, so as to inclose it all round; Juno took the needle and twine, and worked very well. Ready, satisfied that she would be able to get on without them, now said: “Mr. Seagrave, we have but two hours more daylight, and it is right that Mrs. Seagrave should come on shore now; so, if you please, we’ll go off and fetch her and the children. I think we shall be able to do very well for the first night; and if it pleases God to give us fine weather, we may do a great deal more to-morrow.”
As soon as they arrived on board, Mr. Seagrave went down to his wife to propose her going on shore. She was much agitated, and very weak from her illness, but she behaved courageously notwithstanding, and, supported by her husband, gained the deck, William following with the baby, and his little sister Caroline carried by Ready. With some difficulty they were all at last placed in the boat and shoved off; but Mrs. Seagrave was so ill, that her husband was obliged to support her in his arms, and William took an oar. They landed very safely, and carried Mrs. Seagrave up to the tent, and laid her down on one of the mattresses. She asked for a little water.
“And I have forgotten to bring any with me: well, I am a stupid old man; but I’ll go on board directly,” said Ready: “to think that I should be so busy in bringing other things on shore and forget the greatest necessary in life! The fact is, I intended to look for it on the island as soon as I could, as it would save a great deal of trouble.”
Ready returned on board as fast as he could, and brought on shore two kegs of fresh water, which he and William rolled up to the tent.
Juno had completely finished her task, and Mrs. Seagrave having drunk some water, declared that she was much better.
“I shall not return on board any more to-night,” said Ready, “I feel tired—very tired indeed.”
“You must be,” replied Mr. Seagrave; “do not think of doing any more.”
“And I haven’t touched food this day, or even quenched my thirst,” replied Ready, sitting down.
“You are ill, are you not, Ready?” said William.
“A little faint, William; I’m not so young as I was. Could you give me a little water?”
“Stop, William, I will,” said Mr. Seagrave, taking up a tin can which had been filled for his wife: “here, Ready, drink this.”
“I shall be better soon, sir; I’ll just lie down a little, and then I’ll have a biscuit and a little meat.”
Poor old Ready was indeed quite tired out; but he ate something, and felt much revived. Juno was very busy; she had given the children some of the salt meat and biscuit to eat. The baby, and Tommy, and Caroline had been put to bed, and the second tent was nearly ready.
“It will do very well for to-night, Juno,” said Mr. Seagrave; “we have done work enough for this day.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Ready, “and I think we ought to thank God for his mercies to us before we go to sleep.”
“You remind me of my duty, Ready; let us thank him for his goodness, and pray to him for his protection before we go to sleep.”
Mr. Seagrave then offered up a prayer of thankfulness; and they all retired to rest.
Chapter Eleven.
Mr. Seagrave was the first who awoke and rose from his bed on the ensuing morning. He stepped out of the tent, and looked around him. The sky was clear and brilliant. A light breeze ruffled o’er the surface of the water, and the tiny waves rippled one after another upon the white sand of the cove. To the left of the cove the land rose, forming small hills, behind which appeared the continuation of the cocoa-nut groves. To the right, a low ridge of coral rocks rose almost as a wall from the sea, and joined the herbage and brushwood at about a hundred paces, while the wreck of the Pacific, lying like some huge stranded monster, formed the prominent feature in the landscape. The sun was powerful where its beams could penetrate; but where Mr. Seagrave stood, the cocoa-nuts waved their feathery leaves to the wind, and offered an impervious shade. A feeling of the extreme beauty of the scene, subdued by the melancholy created by the sight of the wrecked vessel, pervaded the mind of Mr. Seagrave as he meditated over it.
“Yes,” thought he, “if, tired with the world and its anxieties, I had sought an abode of peace and beauty, it would have been on a spot like this. How lovely is the scene!—what calm—what content—what a sweet sadness does it create! How mercifully have we been preserved when all hope appeared to be gone; and how bountifully have we been provided for, now that we have been saved—and yet I have dared to repine, when I ought to be full of gratitude! May God forgive me! Wife, children, all safe, nothing to regret but a few worldly goods and a seclusion from the world for a time—yes, but for how long a time—What! rebellious still!—for the time that it shall please God in his wisdom to ordain.” Mr. Seagrave turned back to his tent. William, Tommy, and old Ready still remained fast asleep. “Excellent old man!” thought Mr. Seagrave. “What a heart of oak is hid under that rugged bark!—Had it not been for his devotion where might I and all those dear helpless creatures have been now?”
The dogs, who had crept into the tent and laid themselves down upon the mattresses by the side of William and Tommy, now fawned upon Mr. Seagrave. William woke up with their whining, and having received a caution from his father not to wake Ready, he dressed himself and came out.
“Had I not better call Juno, father?” said William; “I think I can, without waking mamma, if she is asleep.”
“Then do, if you can, my boy; and I will see what cooking utensils Ready has brought on shore.”
William soon returned to his father, stating that his mother was in a sound sleep, and that Juno had got up without waking her or the two children.
“Well, we’ll see if we cannot get some breakfast ready for them, William. Those dry cocoa-nut leaves will make an excellent fire.”
“But, father, how are we to light the fire? we have no tinder-box or matches.”
“No; but there are other ways, William, although, in most of them, tinder is necessary. The savages can produce fire by rubbing a soft piece of wood against a hard one. But we have gunpowder; and we have two ways of igniting gunpowder—one is by a flint and steel, and the other is by collecting the sun’s rays into one focus by a magnifying-glass.”
“But, father, when we have lighted the fire, what have we to cook? we have no tea or coffee.”
“No, I do not think we have,” replied Mr. Seagrave.
“But we have potatoes, father.”
“Yes, William, but don’t you think it would be better if we made our breakfast off the cold beef and pork and ship’s biscuit for once, and not use the potatoes? we may want them all to plant, you know. But why should we not go on board of the ship ourselves? you can pull an oar pretty well, and we must all learn to work now, and not leave everything for poor old Ready to do. Come, William.”
Mr. Seagrave then went down to the cove; the little boat was lying on the beach, just lifted by the rippling waves; they pushed her off, and got into her. “I know where the steward kept the tea and
