Captain Frederick Marryat (continued 4)

“That is very true,” replied the woman. “It will be better to leave the chest here, for I do not think that the boat will hold it. You must not mind your chest, my good boy, it is of no great value.”

“They take my rum and all my birds, and they ought to take both me and my chest.”

“Not if it takes up too much room,” replied the woman. “You cannot expect it. The wishes of one person must give way to the wishes of many.”

“Why, they would have starved if it had not been for me,” replied I, angrily.

“That’s very true, boy,” replied the mate; “but you have to learn yet, that might is right; and recollect that what you did this morning has not made you any great favourite with them.”

“What was that?” inquired my companion.

“Only that he nearly drove his knife through one of the men, that’s all,” replied the mate; “English sailors ar’n’t fond of knives.”

He then touched his hat, and went down again to the pool, desiring me to follow him with a kid for our share of the supper. I did so, and on my return she asked me why I had drawn my knife upon the seaman, and I narrated how it occurred. She pointed out to me the impropriety of what I had done, asking me whether the Bible did not tell us we were to forgive injuries.

“Yes,” replied I; “but is it not injuries to ourselves? I did forgive Jackson; but this was to prevent his hurting another.”

“Another! Why you talk of Nero as if the animal was a rational being, and his life of as much consequence as that of a fellow-creature. I do not mean to say but that the man was very wrong, and that you must have felt angry if an animal you were so fond of had been killed; but there is a great difference between the life of an animal and that of a fellow-creature. The animal dies, and there is an end of it; but a man has an immortal soul, which never perishes, and nothing can excuse your taking the life of a man, except in self-defence. Does not the commandment say, ‘Thou shalt not kill?’”

She then talked to me a long while upon the subject, and fully made me understand that I had been very wrong, and I confessed that I had been so.

Chapter Twenty Two.

I now resolved to speak to her relative to the belt which contained the diamonds; and I was first obliged to narrate to her in a few words what Jackson had told me. She heard me with great interest, now and then asking a question. When I had told her all, I said—

“Now, as they talk of not taking my chest, what shall I do? Shall I wear the belt myself, or shall I put it in the bundle? Or will you wear it for me, as my mother would have done, if she had been alive?”

She did not reply for some time, at last she said, as if talking to herself, and not to me—

“How unsearchable are thy ways, O God!”

Indeed, although I did not feel it at the time, I have afterwards thought, and she told me herself, how great her surprise was at finding in the unshorn little savage, thus living alone upon a desolate rock, a lad of good birth, and although he did not know it, with a fortune in his charge, which would, in all probability, be ultimately his own. This is certain, that the interest she felt towards me increased every hour, as by degrees I disclosed my history.

“Well,” replied she, “if you will trust me, I will take charge of your belt. To-morrow we will select out of the chest what will be best to take with you, and then we will arrange as you wish.”

After about an hour’s more conversation, she went into the cabin, and retired behind the screen which had been fixed up, telling me that she did not mind Nero, and that I might go to bed when I pleased. As I was not much inclined to go down to the seamen, I followed her advice and went to bed; but I could not sleep for a long time from the noise which the men made, who were carousing at the bathing-pool. The idea of parting with Nero also lay heavy upon my heart, though the woman had almost satisfied me that as soon as I was gone, the animal would resume its natural habits, and care nothing for me.

I was up the next morning early, and went down with Nero to obtain the fish which we required. I left some on the rocks for the seamen’s breakfast (for they were all sound asleep), and then returned to the cabin, and prepared for our own. Mrs Reichardt, as I shall now call her, soon came out to me, and when breakfast was over, proposed that we should plant the remainder of the potatoes, before we packed up the things in the chest. As soon as they were all cut, we set off to the ravine, and had finished our task before noon, at which time there were but few of the seamen stirring, they had remained up so long the night before, drinking. The mate was one of those who were on their legs, and he asked me if I thought we should have smooth water to launch the boat on the following day. I replied in the affirmative, and went with Mrs Reichardt to the cabin, and putting down the shovel, I hauled my chest out on the platform to select what articles I should take.

While we were thus employed, and talking at times, the men came up for the dried birds to take down ready for putting them in the boat on the following day, and in two trips they had cleared out the whole of them.

“Have you used all the potatoes you brought up?” said one of the men; “for we shall be short of provisions.”

Mrs Reichardt replied that we had none left.

“Well then,” said the man, “the mate says you had better bring down that brute of yours to catch the rest of the fish in the pond, that we may cook them before we start, as they will make two days’ meals at least.”

“Very well,” replied I; “I will come down directly.” I did so, and Nero, in a quarter of an hour, had landed all the fish, and I then returned with him to the cabin. Mrs R had selected the best of the clothes, and made them up in a tight bundle, which she sewed up with strong thread. My books she had left out, as well as the spy-glass, and the tools I had, as they might be useful. I asked her whether I should carry them down to the bathing-pool, but she replied that on the morning when we embarked would be quite time enough. I then went to the hole under Jackson’s bed-place, and brought out the belt and the few articles that were with it. Mrs R, after having examined them, said that she would take care of them all; the watch and other trinkets she put in her basket; the belt she took to the bed-place, and secreted it.

She appeared very silent and thoughtful, and on my asking her whether I should not take down the shovel, and the pail, and hammer, she replied, “No, leave all till we are ready to go to the boat. It will be time enough.”

Shortly afterwards, the mate brought us up some of the fish which they had cooked for supper, and when we had eaten it we went to bed.

“This is the last night we shall sleep together, Nero,” said I, kissing my favourite, and the thought brought tears into my eyes. “But it can’t be helped.” I was, however, soon fast asleep, with my arm round the animal.

When I went out the next morning, I found that the weather was beautifully fine, the water smooth, and only rippled by a light breeze. As Mrs R had not yet made her appearance, I went down to the bathing-pool, where I found all the men up and in full activity. The boat had been emptied out, the oars, masts, and sails, were on the rocks; and the men were turning the bows to the seaward in readiness for launching her over the ledge of rocks. The dried birds lay in a heap by the side of the cask of rum, and the fish which had been baked were in the large kid. The six breakers were also piled up together, and the mate and some of the men were disputing as to how many of them should be filled with water. The mate wanted them all filled; the men said that three would be sufficient, as the boat would be so loaded. At last the mate gained his point, and the men each took a breaker, and went up to the cabin for the water. I went with them to fill the breakers, and also to see that they did no mischief, for they appeared very unruly and out of temper; and I was afraid that they would hurt Nero, who was at the cabin, if I was not there to prevent them; but with the exception of examining the cabin, and forcing themselves in upon Mrs Reichardt, they did nothing. When the breakers were full, which took at least half an hour, they did indeed try to catch the birds, and would have wrung their necks, but the males flew away, and the females I put into the bed-place that was screened off in the cabin, and near which Mrs Reichardt was sitting. They all appeared to have a great awe and respect for this woman, and a look from her was more effectual than were any words of the mate.

“We don’t want you,” said one of the men, as they went down to the bathing-pool with the breakers on their shoulders. “Why don’t you keep up with the lady? You’re quite a lady’s man, now you’ve white trousers on.”

The others who followed him laughed at this latter remark.

“I’m of no use up there, at present,” said I; “and I may be down below.”

The men set down the breakers on the rocks by the pool, and then, under the directions of the mate, prepared to launch the boat over the ledge. The masts of the boat were placed athwartships, under her keel, for her to run upon, and being now quite empty, she was very light. She was what they call a whale-boat, fitted for the whale-fishery, pointed at both ends, and steered by an oar; she was not very large, but held seven people comfortably, and she was remarkably well fitted with sails and masts, having two lugs and a mizen. As soon as they were all ready, the men went to the side of the boat, and in a minute she was launched into the sea without injury. The mate said to me, as they brought her broadside to the ledge:

“Now, my lad, we don’t want you any more; you may go up to the cabin till we are ready, and then we will send for you and the lady.”

“Oh! But I can be of use here,” replied I; “and I am of none up there.”

The mate did not reply, and the men then went to the rum-cask, and rolled it towards the boat; and when they had it on the ledge, they parbuckled it, as they term it, into the boat with a whale-line that they happened to have, and which was of great length. After the cask of rum was got in amidships (and it took up a great deal of space, reaching from one gunwale to the other, and standing high above the thwarts), they went for the breakers of water, which they put in, three before and three behind the cask, upon the floor of the boat.

“She will be too heavy,” said one of the men, “with so much water.”

“We can easily get rid of it,” replied the mate. “If you had said she would be too heavy with so much liquor on board, you had better explained the matter; however, you must have your own ways, I suppose.”

The next articles that they brought to stow away were the provisions. The kid of fish was put amidships on the breakers, and the dried bird; which they carried down in their arms, were packed up neatly in the stern-sheets. They were soon up to the gunwale, and the mate said:

“You had better stow away forward now—there will be little room for the lady as it is.”

“No, no, stow them all aft,” replied one of the men, in a surly tone; “the lady must sit where she can. She’s no better than we.”

“Shall this go in?” said I, pointing to the coil of whale-line, and addressing the mate.

“No, no; we must leave that,” replied one of the men in the boat; “we shall be wedged enough as it is; and I say, Jim, throw that old saw and the bag of nails out of the boat—we can have no use for them.”

The masts were then stepped, and the rigging set up to the gunnel of the boat, the yards and sails handed in, and hooked on the halyards ready for hoisting. In fact the boat was now all ready for starting; they had only the iron kettle and two or three other articles to put in.

“Shall we have the mizen?” inquired one of the men, pointing to the mast, which lay on the rocks.

“No, she steers quite as well without it,” replied the mate. “We’ll leave it. And now, lad; hand the oars in.”

They were brought to the boat, but owing to the puncheon of rum in the centre, they could not lie flat, and after a good deal of arguing and disputing, four oars and a boat-hook were lashed to the gunnel outside, and the rest were left on the rocks.

At this time there was some consultation between the mate and some of the men—the mate being evidently opposed by the others. I could not hear what it was about, but the mate appeared very angry and very much annoyed. At last he dashed his hat down on the rocks in a great passion, saying:

“No good will come of it. Mark my words. No good ever did or ever will. Be it so, you are too many for me; but I tell you again, no good will come of it.”

The mate then sat down on the rocks by himself, and put his head down on his knees, covering it with his hands.

The man with whom he had been disputing went to the others in the boat, and spoke to them in a low tone, looking round at me, to ascertain if I was within hearing.

After a minute or two they all separated, and then one of them said to me—“Now, my lad, we’re all ready. Go up to the cabin and bring down your bundle and her basket, and tell the lady we are waiting for her.”

“There’s the shovel,” said I, “and the boat’s sail—must I bring them down?”

“Oh, yes, bring them down, and also two or three seal-skins for the lady to sit upon.”

Off I went on my errand, for I was delighted with the idea of leaving the island, and my patience had been almost exhausted at the time they had taken in the stowage of the boat. As I hastened up the path, I heard loud contention, and the mate’s voice speaking very angrily, and I stopped for a short time to listen, but the noise ceased, and I went on again. I found Nero on the platform, and I stopped a minute to caress him. “Good-bye, my poor Nero, we shall never see one another again,” said I. “You must go back to the sea, and catch fish for yourself;” and the tears started in my eyes as I gave the animal a farewell kiss.

I then went into the cabin, where I found Mrs Reichardt sitting very quietly.

“They are all ready,” said I, “and have sent me up for you; but I am to bring down the boat’s sail and some seal-skins for you to sit upon. I can carry both if you can carry my bundle. Have you put the belt on?”

“Yes,” replied she, “I am quite ready. I will carry the bundle, and the books and spy-glass, as well as my basket; but we must pack them close,” added she, “and roll the sail up round the yard, or you will not be able to carry it.”

We took the sail down, and got it ready for carrying, and I rolled up the two best seal-skins, and tied them with a piece of fishing-line, and then we were all ready. I shouldered my burden, and Mrs Reichardt took the other articles, as proposed, and we left the cabin to go down the path to the bathing-pool.

“Good-bye, Nero—good-bye, birds—good-bye, cabin—and good-bye, garden,” said I, as I went along the platform; and having so done, and ordered Nero back with a tremulous voice, I turned my head in the direction of the bathing-pool. I stared and then screamed, dropping my burden, as I lifted up my hands in amazement—

“Look!” cried I to my companion. “Look!” repeated I, breathless.

She did look, and saw as I did—the boat under all sail, half a mile from the pool, staggering under a fresh breeze, which carried her away at the rate of seven or eight miles an hour.

They had left us—they had deserted us. I cried out, like a madman, “Stop! Stop! Stop!” and then, seeing how useless it was, I dashed myself on the rock, and for a minute or two was insensible.

“Oh!” groaned I, at last, as I came to my senses.

“Frank Henniker,” said a sweet firm voice.

I opened my eyes, and saw Mrs Reichardt standing by me.

“It is the will of Heaven, and you must submit to it patiently,” continued she.

“But so cruel, so treacherous!” replied I, looking at the fast-receding boat.

“I grant, most cruel, and most treacherous; but we must leave them to the judgment of God. What can they expect from Him in the way of mercy when they have shown none? I tell you candidly, that I think we are better in our present forlorn state upon this rock, than if in that boat. They have taken with them the seeds of discord, of recklessness, and intemperance, in an attempt which requires the greatest prudence, calmness, and unanimity, and I fear there is little chance of their ever being rescued from their dangerous position. It is my opinion, and I thought so when I first knew they had found the cask, that liquor would prove their ruin, and I say again, that boat will never arrive at its destination, and they will all perish miserably. It has pleased God that they should leave us here, and depend upon it, it has been so decided for the best.”

“But,” replied I, looking again at the boat, “I was tired of being here—I was so anxious to get off—and now to be left! And they have taken all our provisions, everything, even the fish in the pool. We shall starve.”

“I hope not,” replied she, “and I think not; but we must exert ourselves, and trust to Heaven.”

But I could not heed her—my heart was bursting. I sobbed, as I sat with my hands covering up my face.

“All gone;” cried I. “No one left but you and I.”

“Yes,” replied she, “one more.”

“Who?” cried I, looking up.

“God!—who is with us always.”

Chapter Twenty Three.

I heard what she said, but my head was too confused to weigh the words. I remained silent, where I was. A few seconds elapsed, and she spoke again:

“Frank Henniker, rise, and listen to me.”

“We shall starve,” muttered I.

As I said this, one of the male birds returned from the sea with a large fish, of which Mrs Reichardt took possession, as she had seen me do, and the gannet flew away again to obtain more. Immediately afterwards, the other two birds returned with fish, which were in the like way secured by my companion.

“See how unjust and ungrateful you are,” observed she. “Here are the birds feeding us, as the ravens did Elijah in the wilderness, at the very time that you are doubting the goodness and mercy of God. There is a meal for us provided already.”

“My head! My head!” exclaimed I, “it is bursting, and there is a heavy weight rolling in it—I cannot see anything.”

And such was the fact: the excitement had brought on a determination of blood to the head, and my senses were rapidly departing. Mrs Reichardt knelt by my side, and perceiving that what I had said was the case, went into the cabin and brought out a cloth, which she wetted with water from the spring, and laid across my forehead and temples. I remained motionless and nearly senseless for half an hour, during which, she continued to apply fresh cold water to the cloth, and by degrees I recovered from my stupor. In the mean time, the weather being so fine and the water smooth, the gannets continued to return with the fish they caught, almost all of which were taken from them by my companion, until she had collected more than a dozen fish, from half a pound to a pound weight, which she put away, so that the birds and seal might not devour them.

I was still in a half-dozing state, when the breathing and cold nose of Nero touched my cheek, and the murmurings of my favourite roused me up, and I opened my eyes.

“I am better now,” said I, to Mrs Reichardt. “How kind you have been.”

“Yes, you are better; but still, you must remain quiet. Do you think that you could walk to your bed-place?”

“I’ll try,” replied I, and with her assistance I rose up; but, when I afterwards gained my feet, I should have fallen if she had not supported me; but, assisted by her, I gained my bed and sank down again.

She raised my head higher, and then applied the linen cloth and cold water as before.

“Try now,” said she, “if you cannot go to sleep. When you awake again, I will have some dinner ready for you.”

I thanked her and shut my eyes. Nero crawled to my bed-place, and with my hand upon his head, I fell asleep, and remained so till near sunset, when I awoke with very little pain in my head, and much refreshed. I found Mrs Reichardt by my side.

“You are better now,” said she. “Can you eat any dinner? I must make friends with Nero, for he has been disputing my right to come near your bedside, and his teeth are rather formidable. However, I gave him the inside of the fish when I cleaned them, and we are better friends already. There is your dinner.”

Mrs Reichardt placed before me some of the fish, broiled on the embers, and I ate very heartily.

“It is very kind of you,” said I, “to be working for me, when I ought to be working for you—but you must not do it again.”

“Only my share of the work when you are well,” replied she; “but my share I always shall do. I cannot be idle, and I am strong enough to do a great deal; but we will talk about that to-morrow morning. You will be quite well by that time, I hope.”

“Oh! I feel well now,” replied I, “only I am very weak.”

“You must put your trust in God, my poor boy. Do you ever pray to Him?”

“Yes, I try a little sometimes—but I don’t know how. Jackson never taught me that.”

“Then I will. Shall I pray now for both of us?”

“Will God hear you? What was it that you said just before I forgot everything this morning?”

“I told you that there was another here besides ourselves, a good and gracious God, who is always with us and always ready to come to our assistance if we call upon Him.”

“You told me God lived beyond the stars.”

“My poor boy, as if He were a God who was afar off and did not attend to our prayers! Such is not the case. He is with us always in spirit, listening to all our prayers, and reading every secret thought of our hearts.”

I was silent for some time, thinking upon what she had told me; at last I said—“Then pray to Him.”

Mrs Reichardt knelt down and prayed in a clear and fervent voice, without hesitation or stop. She prayed for protection and support in our desolate condition, that we might be supplied with all things needful for our sustenance, and have a happy deliverance from our present position. She prayed that we might be contented and resigned until it should please Him to rescue us—that we might put our whole trust and confidence in Him, and submit without murmuring to whatever might be His will. She prayed for health and strength, for an increase of faith and gratitude towards Him for all His mercies. She thanked him for our having been preserved by being left on the desolate rock, instead of having left it in the boat with the seamen. (This surprised me.) And then she prayed for me, entreating that she might be the humble instrument of leading me to my Heavenly Father, and that He would be pleased to pour down upon me His Holy Spirit, so that I might by faith in Christ, be accepted, and become a child of God and an inheritor of eternal bliss.

There was something so novel to me and so beautiful in her fervency of prayer, that the tears came into my eyes, and about a minute after she had finished, I said—

“I now recollect, at least, I think I do—for the memory of it is very confused—that my mother used to kneel down by me and pray just as you have done. Oh, how I wish I had a mother!”

“My child,” replied she, “promise me that you will be a good and obedient son, and I will be a mother to you.”

“Will you? Oh! How kind of you. Yes, I will be all you wish; I will work for you day and night if it is necessary. I will do everything, if you will but be my mother.”

“I will do my duty to you as a mother most strictly,” replied she; “so that is agreed upon. Now, you had better go to sleep, if you can.”

“But I must first ask you a question. Why did you thank God for the seamen having left us here, instead of taking us with them?”

“Because the boat was overloaded as it was; because the men, having liquor, would become careless and desperate, and submit to no control; and therefore I think there is little or no chance of their ever arriving anywhere safe, but that they will perish miserably in some way or another. This, I consider, is the probability, unless the Almighty in His mercy, should be pleased to come to their assistance, and allow them to fall in with some vessel soon after their departure.”

“Do you think, then, that God prevented our going with them on purpose that we might not share their fate?”

“I do! God regulates everything. Had it been better for us that we should have gone, He would have permitted it; but He willed it otherwise, and we must bow to His will with a full faith, that He orders everything for the best.”

“And you say that God will give us all that we ask for in our prayers?”

“Yes, if we pray fervently and in faith, and ask it in the name of Jesus Christ; that is, He will grant all we pray for that is good for us, but not what is not good for us; but when we ask anything, we do not know that we are asking what is proper or not—but He does. We may ask what would be hurtful to us, and then, in His love for us, He denies it. For instance, suppose you had been accustomed to pray, you must have prayed God that He would permit you to leave this island in the boat, as you are so anxious to go away; but supposing that boat is lost, as I imagine it will be, surely it would have been a kindness in God, who knew that it would be lost, not to grant your prayer. Is it not so?”

“Yes, I see now, thank you; now I will go to sleep—good night.”

Chapter Twenty Four.

I awoke the next morning quite recovered from my illness of the day before, and was out of the cabin before Mrs Reichardt, who still remained behind the screen which she had put up after I had gone to sleep. It was a beautiful morning, the water was smooth, and merely rippled with a light breeze, and the sun shone bright. I felt well and happy. I lighted a fire to broil the fish for breakfast, as there was a sufficiency left, and then got my fishing-lines ready to catch some larger fish to re-inhabit my pond at the bathing-pool. Mrs Reichardt came out of the cabin and found me playing with Nero.

“Good morning, dear mother,” said I, for I felt most kindly towards her.

“Good morning, my dear boy,” replied she. “Are you quite well?”

“Quite well; and I have got my lines all ready; for I have been thinking that until the birds come, we must live on fish altogether, and we can only take them in fine weather like this; so we must not lose such a day.”

“Certainly not. As soon as we have breakfasted, we will go down and fish. I can fish very well, I am used to it. We must both work now; but first go for your Bible, that we may read a little.”

I did so, and after she had read a chapter, she prayed, and I knelt by her side; then we breakfasted, and as soon as we had breakfasted, we set off to the bathing-pool.

“Do you know if they left anything behind them, Frank?”

“Yes,” replied I, “they left some oars, I believe, and a long line, and we have the shovel and the hammer, and the boat’s small sail, up at the cabin.”

“Well, we shall see very soon,” replied she, as we went down the path.

When we arrived at the bathing-pool, the first thing that met my eyes made me leap with joy. “Oh! Mother! Mother! They’ve left the iron pot; I did so long for it; and as I lay awake this morning, I thought that if I prayed for anything, it would be for the iron pot. I was tired of dried birds, and they ate so different when they were boiled up in the pot with potatoes.”

“I am equally glad, Frank, for I do not like victuals uncooked; but now let us first see what else they have thrown out of the boat.”

“Why, they have put on shore three of the little casks of water,” said I; “they took them all on board.”

“They have so, I suppose, because the boat was too heavy, and they would not part with the liquor. Foolish men, they will now not have more than six days’ water, and will suffer dreadfully.”

We then looked round the rocks and found that they had left the iron kettle, three breakers, five oars, and a harpoon and staffs; a gang-board, a whale-line of 200 fathoms, an old saw, a bag of broad-headed nails, and two large pieces of sheet-iron.

“That saw may be very useful to us,” said Mrs Reichardt, “especially as you have files in your chests. Indeed, if we want them, we may convert one half of the saw into knives.”

“Into knives! How?”

“I will show you; and these pieces of sheet-iron I could use again. You see the sheet-iron was put on to repair any hole which might be made in the boat, and they have thrown it out, as well as the hammer and nails. I wonder at John Gough permitting it.”

“I heard them quarrelling with him as I came out yesterday to fetch you down; they would not mind what he said.”

“No, or we should not have been left here,” replied she; “John Gough was too good a man to have allowed it, if he could have prevented it. That sheet-iron will be very useful. Do you know what for? To broil fish on, or anything else. We must turn up the corners with the hammer. But now we must lose no more time, but fish all day long, and not think of eating till supper-time.”

Accordingly we threw out our lines, and the fish taking the bait freely, we soon hauled in more than a dozen large fish, which I put into the bathing-pool.

“What use can we make of that long line which they have left?”

“A good many; but the best use we can make of it, is to turn it into fishing-lines, when we require new ones.”

“But how can we do that, it is so thick and heavy?”

“Yes, but I will show you how to unlay it, and then make it up again. Recollect, Frank, that I have been the wife of a Missionary, and have followed my husband wherever he went; sometimes we have been well off, sometimes as badly off as you and I are now—for a Missionary has to go through great dangers, and great hardships, as you would acknowledge if you ever heard my life, or rather that of my husband.”

“Won’t you tell it to me?”

“Yes, perhaps I will, some day or another; but what I wish to point out to you now is, that being his wife, and sharing his danger and privation, I have been often obliged to work hard and to obtain my living as I could. In England, women do little except in the house, but a Missionary’s wife is obliged to work with the men, and as a man very often, and therefore learns to do many things of which women in general are ignorant. You understand now?”

“Oh yes. I have thought already that you appear to know more than Jackson did.”

“I should think not; but Jackson was not fond of work I expect, and I am. And now, Frank, you little thought that when you so tardily went to work the other day to plant potatoes for the benefit of any one that might hereafter come to the island, that you were planting for yourself, and would reap the benefit of your own kind act; for if you had not assisted, of course I could not have done it by myself: so true it is, that even in this world you are very often rewarded for a good action.”

“But are not you always?”

“No, my child, you must not expect that; but if not rewarded in this world, you will be rewarded in the next.”

“I don’t understand that.”

“I suppose that you hardly can, but I will explain all that to you, if God spare my life; but it must be at a more seasonable time.”

We continued fishing till late in the afternoon, by which time had taken twenty-eight large fish, about seven to nine pounds weight; Mrs Reichardt then proposed that we should leave off, as we had already provision for a fortnight.

I hauled out one more fish, which she took with her to cook for our supper, and having coiled up my lines, I then commenced, as she had told me to do, carrying up the articles left by the boat’s crew at the bathing-pool. The first thing I seized upon was the coveted iron kettle; I was quite overjoyed at the possession of this article, and I had good reason to be. In my other hand I carried the saw and the bag of nails. As soon as I had deposited them at the cabin, I went down again, and before supper was ready I had brought up everything except the three breakers of water, which I left where they were, as we did not want them for present use, whatever we might hereafter. We were both rather tired, and were glad to go to bed after we had taken our supper.

Chapter Twenty Five.

When we met the following morning, my mother, as I shall in future call her, said to me, “This will be a busy day, Frank, for we have a great many arrangements to make in the cabin, so that we may be comfortable. In future the cabin must be kept much more clean and tidy than it is; but that is my business more than yours. Let us get our breakfasts, and then we will begin.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” replied I; “but I will do it if I can, as soon as you tell me.”

“My dear boy, a woman requires a portion of the cabin to herself, as it is not the custom for women to live altogether with men. Now, what I wish is, that the hinder part of the cabin, where you used to stow away your dried birds, should be made over to me. We have oars with which we can make a division, and then nail up seal-skins, so that I may have that part of the cabin to myself. Now, do you understand what I want?”

“Yes, but the oars are longer than the cabin is wide,” observed I. “How shall we manage it?”

“We have the old saw, and that will do well enough to cut them off, without its being sharpened.”

“I never saw one used,” replied I, “and I don’t understand it.”

“I will soon show you. First, we must measure the width of the cabin. I shall not take away more than one-third of it.”

My mother went into the cabin, and I followed her. With a piece of fishing-line, she took the width of the cabin, and then the height up to the rafters for the door-posts. We then went out, and with the saw, which she showed me how to use, and which astonished me very much, when I perceived its effects, the oars were cut up to the proper length. Gimlets I had already from the sea-chest, and nails and hammer we had just obtained from the boat; so that before the forenoon was over, the framework was all ready for nailing on the seal-skins. The bag of broad-headed short nails, which had been thrown on the rocks, were excellent for this purpose, and as I had plenty of skins, the cabin was soon divided off, with a skin between the door-jambs hanging down loose, so that any one might enter. I went inside after it was complete. “But,” said I, “you have no light to see what you are about.”

“Not yet, but I soon will have,” replied my mother. “Bring the saw here, Frank. Observe, you must cut through the side of the cabin here, a square hole of this size; three of the planks cut through will be sufficient. Begin here.”

I did as she directed me, and in the course of half an hour, I had cut out of the south side of the cabin a window about two feet square, which admitted plenty of light.

“But won’t it make it cold at night?” said I.

“We will prevent that,” replied she, and she took out a piece of white linen, and with some broad-headed nails, she nailed it up, so as to prevent the air from coming in, although there was still plenty of light. “There,” said she, “that is but a coarse job, which I will mend by-and-bye; but it will do for the present.”

“Well, it is very nice and comfortable now,” said I, looking round it. “Now what shall I bring in?”

“Nothing for the bed but seal-skins,” said she. “I do not like the feathers. The seal-skins are stiff at present, but I think we may be able to soften them by-and-bye. Now, Frank, your chest had better come in here, as it is of no use where it is, and we will make a storeroom of it, to hold all our valuables.”

“What, the diamonds?” replied I.

“My dear boy, we have articles to put into the chest, which, in our present position, are more valuable to us than all the diamonds in the world. Tell me now, yourself, what do you prefer and set most value upon, your belt of diamonds, or the iron kettle?”

“The iron kettle, to be sure,” replied I.

“Exactly so; and there are many things in our possession as valuable as the iron kettle, as you will hereafter acknowledge. Now do you go and get ready some fire for us, and I will finish here by myself Nero keep out, sir—you are never to come into this cabin.”

I went with Nero for a fish, and when I returned. I determined that I would use the iron kettle. I put it on with water and boiled the fish, and I thought that it ate better than broiled on the embers, which made it too dry.

As we sat at our meal, I said, “Dear mother, what are we to do next?”

“To-morrow morning we will put the cabin into better order, and put away all our things, instead of leaving them about the platform in this way. Then I will carefully look over all that we have got, and put them away in the chest. I have not yet seen the contents of the chest.”

The next day it was very cloudy and rough weather, blowing fresh. After breakfast we set to work. We cleared out the floor of the cabin, which was strewed with all manner of things, for Jackson and I had not been very particular. The whale-line was coiled up and put into one corner and everything else was brought in and a place round for it.

“We must contrive some shelves,” said my mother, “that we may put things on them, or else we never can be tidy; and we have not one except that which holds the books. I think we can manage it. We have, two oars left besides the boat’s yard; we will nail them along the side of the cabin, about a foot or more from it, and then we will cut some of the boat’s sail, and nail the canvass from the side of the cabin to the oars, and that will make a sort of shelf which will hold our things.”

I brought in the oars; they were measured and cut off and nailed up. The canvass was then stretched from the side of the cabin to the oar, and nailed with the broad-headed nails, and made two capital shelves on each side of the cabin, running from one end to the other.

“There,” said my mother, “that is a good job. Now we will examine the chest and put everything away and in its place.”

My mother took out all the clothes, and folded them up. When she found the roll of duck which was at the bottom, she said—

“I am glad to find this, as I can make a dress for myself much better for this island than this black stuff dress which I now wear, and which I will put by to wear, in case we should be taken off the island some of these days; for I must dress like other people when I am again among them. The clothes are sufficient to last you for a long while; but I shall only alter two shirts and two pair of trousers to your present size, as you will grow very fast. How old do you think you are now?”

I replied, “About sixteen years old, or perhaps more.”

“I should think that was about your age.”

Having examined and folded up every article of clothing in the chest, the tools, spy-glass, etcetera, were put by me on the shelves, and then we examined the box containing the thread, needles, fish-hooks, and other articles, such as buttons, etcetera.

“These are valuable,” said she; “I have some of my own to put along with them. Go and fetch my basket; I have not yet had time to look into it since I left the ship.”

“What is there in it?”

“Except brushes and combs, I can hardly say. When I travelled about, I always carried my basket, containing those things most requisite for daily use, and in the basket I put everything that I wished to preserve, till I had an opportunity to put it away. When I embarked on board of the whaler, I brought my basket on my arm as usual; but except opening it for my brushes and combs or scissors, I have not examined it for months.”

“What are brushes and combs and scissors?”

“That I will show you,” replied she, opening the lid of the basket. “These are the brushes and combs for cleaning the hair, and these are scissors. Now we will take everything out.”

The basket did indeed appear to contain a wonderful quantity of things, almost all new to me. There were two brushes, twelve combs, three pair of scissors, a penknife, a little bottle of ink, some pens, a woman’s thimble, a piece of wax, a case of needles, thread and silk, a piece of India ink, and a camel’s hair brush, sealing-wax, sticking plaster, a box of pills, some tape and bobbin, paper of pins, a magnifying-glass, silver pencil-case, some money in a purse, black shoe-ribbon, and many other articles which I have forgotten. All I know is, that I never was so much interested ever after at any show as I was with the contents of this basket, all of which were explained to me by my mother, as to their uses, and how they were made. There were several little papers at the bottom of the basket, which she said were seeds of plants, which she had collected to take to England with her, and that we would plant them here. As she shook the dust out of the basket after it was empty, two or three white things tumbled out, which she asked me to pick up and give to her.

“I don’t know how they came here,” said she, “but three of them are orange-pips, which we will sow to-morrow, and the other is a pea, but of what kind I know not; we will sow that also—but I fear it will not come up, as it appears to me to be one of the peas served out to the sailors on board ship, and will be too old to grow. We can but try. Now we will put into the chest, with the other things that you have, what we do not want for present use, and then I can drive a nail into the side of my bedroom and hang my basket on it.”

“But,” said I, “this round glass—what is that for?”

“Put it on one side,” replied she, “and to-morrow, if it is fine, I will show you the use of it; but there are some things we have forgotten, which are your belt and the other articles you gave me to take for you when you thought we were to leave the island. They are in the bed-place opposite to yours.”

I brought them, and she put away the mate’s watch and sleeve-buttons, and the other trinkets, etcetera, saying that she would examine the letters and papers at another time. The belt was examined, counting how many of the squares had stones in them, and then, with her scissors, she cut open one of the squares, and took out a white glittering thing like glass, as it appeared to me, and looked at it carefully.

“I am no great judge of these things,” said she, “but still I have picked up some little knowledge. This belt, if it contain all stones like this, must be of considerable value; now I must get out my needle and thread and sew it up again.” She did, and put the belt away with the other articles in the chest. “And now,” said she, “we have done a good day’s work, and it is time to have something to eat.”

Chapter Twenty Six.

I must say that I was much better pleased with the appearance of the cabin, it was so neat and clean to what it had been, and everything was out of the way. The next day was a calm and clear day, and we went down to fish. We were fortunate, and procured almost as many as we had done at the previous fishing—they were all put in the bathing-pool as before. When we went up to the cabin, as soon as the fish was put on the fire, under the direction of my mother, I turned up the sides of one of the pieces of sheet-iron, so as to make a sort of dish. The other piece I did the same to, only not so high at the sides, as one piece was kept for baking the fish on and the other as a dish to put our dinner upon when cooked. That day we had been too busy with fishing to think of anything else, but on the following I recollected the magnifying-glass, and brought it to her. She first showed me the power it had to magnify, with which I was much amused for a time, and she explained as well as she could to me the cause of its having that power: but I could not well understand her: I was more pleased with the effect than cognisant of the cause. Afterwards she sent me to the cabin for some of the dried moss which I used for tinder, and placing the glass so as to concentrate the rays of the sun, to my astonishment I saw the tinder caught fire. It was amazement more than astonishment, and I looked up to see where the fire came from. My mother explained to me, and I, to a certain degree, comprehended; but I was too anxious to have the glass in my own hands and try experiments. I lighted the tinder again—then I burnt my hand—then I singed one of the gannet’s heads, and lastly, perceiving that Nero was fast asleep in the sun, I obtained the focus on his cold nose. He started up with a growl, which made me retreat, and I was perfectly satisfied with the result of my experiments. From that time, the fire was, when the sun shone, invariably lighted by the burning-glass, and very useful did I find it. As it was so portable, I always carried it with me, and when I had nothing to do, I magnified, or set fire, according to the humour of the moment.

Although I have not mentioned it, not a morning rose, but before breakfast, I read the Scriptures to my mother.

“There’s so much in that book which I cannot understand,” said I, one morning.

“I suspect that, living as you have, alone on this island, and having seen nothing of the world,” replied my mother, “that there are not many books that you would understand.”

“But I understand all that is said in the Beast and Bird Book,” replied I.

“Perhaps you may, or think you do; but, Frank, you must not class the Bible with other books. The other books are the works of man; but the Bible is the word of God. There are many portions of that book which the cleverest men, who have devoted their lives to its study, cannot understand, and which never will be understood as long as this world endures. In many parts the Bible is a sealed book.”

“But will it never be understood then by anybody?”

“There is quite as much of the Bible as is necessary for men to follow its precepts, and this is so clear that anybody may understand it—it contains all that is necessary for salvation; but there are passages, the true meaning of which we cannot explain, and which God, for His own purposes, will not permit us to do. But if we do not know them now, we shall probably hereafter, when we have left this world, and our intellects more nearly approach God’s.”

“Well, I don’t understand why we should not understand it.”

“Frank,” replied she, “look at that flower just in bloom. Do you understand how it is that that plant keeps alive—grows every year—every year throws out a large blue flower? Why should it do so? Why should the flower always be blue? And whence comes that beautiful colour? Can you tell me? You see, you know that it does do so. But can you tell me what makes it do so?”

“No.”

“Look at that bird. You know it is hatched from an egg. How is it that the inside of an egg is changed into bird? How is that the bird is covered with feathers, and has the power to fly? Can you explain to me yourself? You can walk about just as you please—you have the power of reasoning, and thinking, and of acting; but by what means is it that you possess that power? Can you tell? You know that is so, but you know no more. You can’t tell why, or how, or what causes produce these effects—can you?”

“No.”

“Well, then, if you are surrounded by all manner of things, living and dead, and see every day things which you cannot explain, or understand, why should you be surprised that, as God has not let you know by what means these effects are produced, that in His written word He should also keep from you that which for good purposes you are not permitted to know. Everything here is by God’s will, and that must be sufficient for us. Now do you understand?”

“Yes, I see now what you mean, but I never thought about these things before. Tell me some more about the Bible.”

“Not now. Some day I will give you a history of the Bible, and then you will understand the nature of the book, and why it was written; but not at present. Suppose, as we have nothing particular to do, you tell me all you know about yourself from Jackson, and all that happened while you lived with him. I have heard only part, and I should like to know all.”

“Very well,” replied I. “I will tell you everything, but it will take a long while.”

“We shall have plenty of time to spare, my dear boy, I fear, before we leave this place; so never mind time—tell me everything.”

I commenced my narrative, but I was interrupted.

“Have you never been able to call your own mother to your memory?” said she.

“I think I can now, since I have seen you; but I could not before. I now can recollect a person dressed like you, kneeling down and praying by my side; and I said before, the figure has appeared in my dreams, and much oftener since you have been here.”

“And your father?”

“I have not the slightest remembrance of him, or anybody else except my mother.” I then proceeded, and continued my narrative until it was time to go to bed; but as I was very circumstantial, and was often interrupted by questions, I had not told a quarter of what I had to say.

Chapter Twenty Seven.

Mrs Reichardt had promised to give me a history of the Bible; and one day, when the weather kept us both at home, she thus commenced her narrative:—

“The Bible is a history of God’s doings for the salvation of man. It commences with the fall of man by disobedience, and ends with the sacrifice made for his reinstatement. As by one man, Adam, sin came into the world, so by one man, Jesus Christ, was sin and death overcome. If you will refer to the third chapter of Genesis, at the very commencement of the Bible, you will find that at the same time that Adam receives his punishment, a promise is made by the Lord, that the head of the serpent shall hereafter be bruised. The whole of the Bible, from the very commencement, is an announcement of the coming of Christ; so that as soon as the fault had been committed, the Almighty, in His mercy, had provided a remedy. Nothing is unknown or unforeseen by God.

“Recollect, Frank, that the Bible contains the history of God’s doings, but it does not often tell is why such things were done. It must be sufficient for us to know that such was the will of God; when He thinks proper, He allows us to understand His ways; but to our limited capacities, most of His doings are inscrutable. But are we to suppose that, because we, in our foolishness, cannot comprehend His reasons, that therefore they must be cavilled at? Do you understand me, Frank?”

“Yes,” replied I; “I do pretty well.”

“As I pointed out to you the other day, you see the blade of grass grow, and you see it flower, but how it does so you know not. If then you are surrounded all your life with innumerable things which you see but cannot comprehend—when all nature is a mystery to you—even yourself—how can you expect to understand the dealings of God in other things? When, therefore, you read the Bible, you must read it with faith.”

“What is faith? I don’t quite understand, mother.”

“Frank, I have often told you of many things that are in England, where you one day hope to go. Now, if, when you arrive in England, you find that everything that I have told you is quite true, you will be satisfied that I am worthy of belief.”

“Yes.”

“Well, suppose some one were to tell you something relative to any other country, which you could not understand, and you came to me and asked me if such were the case, would you, having found that I told you truth with regard to England, believe that what you had been told of this other country was true, if I positively asserted that it was so?”

“Of course I should, mother.”

“Well, then, Frank, that would be faith; a belief in things not only not seen, but which you cannot understand. But, to go on, I mention this because some people are so presumptuous as to ask the why and the wherefore of God’s doings, and attempt to argue upon their justice, forgetting that the little reason they have is the gift of God, and that they must be endowed with intellect equal to the Almighty, to enable them to know and perceive that which He decides upon. But if God has not permitted us to understand all his ways, still, wherever we can trace the finger of God, we can always perceive that everything is directed by an all-wise and beneficent hand; and that, although the causes appear simple, the effects produced are extraordinary and wonderful. We shall observe this as we talk over the history of the Jews, in the Bible. But, I repeat, that we must study the whole of the Bible with faith, and not be continually asking ourselves, ‘Why was this done?’ If you will turn to the ninth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, you will see what the Apostle Paul says on the subject: ‘Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God?’ Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, ‘Why hast thou made me thus?’ Do you now understand in what spirit the Bible should be read?”

“Yes, I do. We must read it as the Word of God, and believe all that we read in it.”

“Exactly. Now we will proceed. After Adam’s fall, the earth became so wicked that God destroyed it, leaving but Noah and his family to re-people it; and as soon as this was done, the Almighty prepared for his original intention for the future salvation of men. He selected Abraham, who was a good man, and who had faith, to be the father of a nation chosen for His own people—that was the Jewish nation. He told him that his seed should multiply as the stars in the heavens, and that all the nations of the earth should be blessed in him; that is, that from his descendants should Christ be born, who should be the salvation of men. Abraham’s great grandchildren were brought into Egypt, to live apart in the land of Goshen. You have read the history of Joseph and his brethren?”

“Oh yes; I know that well.”

“Well, the Almighty wished the Jews should be a nation apart from others, and for that purpose he brought them into Egypt. But observe, Frank, by what simple and natural causes this was effected. It was by a dream of Joseph’s, which, when he told them of it, irritated his brothers against him; they sold him as a slave, and he was sent into Egypt. There, having explained the dream of Pharaoh, he was made a ruler over Egypt, and saved that country from the famine which was in every other land. His brothers come down to buy corn, and he recognises them. He sends for his father and all the family, and establishes them in the land of Goshen, as shepherds, apart from the Egyptians. Here they multiplied fast; but after Joseph’s elevation they were cruelly treated by the Egyptians, who became afraid of their rapid increase, and eventually the kings of Egypt gave orders that all the male children of the Jews should be destroyed. It was at this time, when they were so oppressed and cruelly treated by the Egyptians, that God interfered and sent for Moses. Moses, like all the rest of the Jews, knew nothing of the true God, and was difficult to persuade; and it was only by miracles that he was convinced.”

“Why did God keep the Jews apart from the Egyptians, and have them thrown in bondage?”

“Because he wished to prepare them to become his own peculiar people. By their being descended from Abraham, and having never intermarried with other nations, they had become a pure race; by being in bondage and severely treated, they had suffered and become united as a people. They knew no gods, but those worshipped by the Egyptians, and these gods it was now the intention of the Almighty to confound, and prove to the Jews as worthless. At the same time he worked with his own nation in mystery, for when Moses asked him what God he was to tell his people that He was, the Almighty only replied by these words—‘I am:’ having no name like all the false gods worshipped by the Egyptians. He was now about to prove, by his wonderful miracles, the difference between himself and the false gods.”

“What are miracles?”

“A miracle is doing that which man has no power of doing, proving that the party who does it is superior to man; for instance—to restore a dead man to life is a miracle, as none but God, or those empowered by God, could do so. Miracles were necessary, therefore, to prove to the Jews that the Almighty was the true God, and were resorted to by Him in this instance, as well as in the coming of Our Saviour, when it was also necessary to prove that he was the Son of God. When the Almighty sent Moses to Pharaoh to demand that the Israelites should have permission to sacrifice in the desert, He purposely hardened the heart of Pharaoh that he might refuse the request.”

“But why did he so?”

“Because he wanted to prove to the Israelites that He was the only true God; and had Pharaoh consented to their going away, there would have been no opportunity of performing those miracles by which the Israelites were to be delivered, and by which they were to acknowledge Him as their God.”

Mrs Reichardt often renewed this conversation, till I became acquainted with Scriptural History.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

The following morning, I went with Nero to take a couple of fish out of the pool. As soon as Nero had caught them, he went into the other part of the bathing-pool to amuse himself, while I cleaned the fish, which I generally did before I went up to the cabin, giving him the heads and insides for his share, if I did not require any portion for the birds. Nero was full of play that morning, and when I threw the heads to him, as he frolicked in the water, he brought them out to the rocks; but instead of eating them, as usual, he laid them at my feet. I threw them in several times, and he continued to bring them out, and my mother, coming down to me, was watching him.

“I think,” said she, “you must teach Nero to fetch and carry like a dog—try. Instead of the heads, throw in this piece of wood;” which she now broke off the boat-hook staff.

I did so, and Nero brought it out, as he had done the heads of the fish. I patted and coaxed the animal, and tried him again several times with success.

“Now,” said my mother, “you must accustom him to certain words when you send him for anything. Always say, ‘Fetch it, Nero!’ and point with your finger.”

“Why am I to do that, mother?” I asked.

“Because the object to be gained is, not that the animal should fetch out what you throw in, but what you send it to bring out which you have not thrown in. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” replied I. “You mean, if there were anything floating near on the sea, I should send him for it.”

“Exactly. Then Nero would be of some use.”

“I will soon teach him,” replied I; “to-morrow I will send him into the sea after the piece of spar. I’ve no fear that he will go away now.”

“I was thinking last night, Frank, whether they had taken the pail with them in the boat.”

“The pail,” said I; “I know where it is, but I quite forgot it. We left it up the ravine the last day we planted the potatoes.”

“We did so, now I recollect. I will go for it while you get the breakfast ready.”

We had now been for many weeks on a fish diet and I must confess that I was tired of it, which was not the case when I lived upon the dried birds during the whole of the year. Why so I cannot tell; but I was soon to learn to relish fish, if I could obtain them.

It was not often that the wind blew direct on the shore, but coming from the northward and eastward, it was in a slanting direction; but occasionally, and chiefly about the time of the equinoxes, the gales came on very heavy from the eastward, and then the wash of the seas upon the rocky coast was tremendous. Such was the case about this time. A fierce gale of wind from the eastward raised a sea which threw the surf and spray high over the loftiest of the rocks, and the violence of the wind bore the spray far inland. The gale had come on in the evening, and my mother and I, when we rose in the morning, were standing on the platform before the cabin, admiring the grandeur of the scene, but without the least idea that it was to be productive of so much misery to ourselves. My mother pointed out to me some passages in the Psalms and Old Testament bearing strongly upon the scene before us; after a time I called Nero, and went down with him to take fish out of the pool for our day’s consumption. At that time we had a large supply in the pool—more than ever, I should say. When I arrived at the pool, I found the waves several feet in height rolling in over the ledges, and the pool one mass of foam, the water in it being at least two or three feet higher than usual; still it never occurred to me that there was any mischief done, until I had sent Nero in for the fish, and found that, after floundering and diving for some time, he did not bring out one. My mind misgave me; and I ordered him in again. He remained some time and then returned without a fish, and I was then satisfied that from the rolling in of the waves, and the unusual quantity of the water in the pool, the whole of the fish had escaped, and that we were now without any provisions or means of subsistence, until the weather should settle, and enable us to catch some more.

Aghast at the discovery, I ran up to the cabin, and called to my mother, who was in her bedroom.

“Oh, mother, all the fish have got out of the pool, and we have nothing to eat. I told you we should be starved.”

“Take time, Frank, and take breath,” replied she, “and then tell me what has happened to cause this alarm and dismay, that you appear to be in.”

I explained to her what had happened, and that Nero could not find one fish.

“I fear that what you say must be correct,” replied she; “but we must put our trust in God. It is His will, and whatever He wills must be right.”

I cannot say I was Christian enough at the time to acknowledge the truth of her reply, and I answered, “If God is as good and as gracious as you say, will He allow us to starve? Does he know that we are starving?” continued I.

“Does He know, Frank?” replied my mother. “What does the Bible say—that not a sparrow falls to the ground without His knowledge; and of how much more worth are you than many sparrows? Shame upon you, Frank!” I was abashed, but not satisfied; I therefore replied quietly, “We have nothing to eat, mother.”

“Granted that we have lost all our fish, Frank, still we are not yet starving; the weather may moderate to-morrow, and we may catch some more, or even if it should not till the day afterwards, we can bear to be two days without food. Let us hope for the best and put our trust in God—let us pray to Him and ask him for his assistance. He can rebuke these stormy waters—He can always find means of helping those who put confidence in Him, and will send us aid when all hope appears gone. Pray, Frank, as I will do fervently, and believing that your prayer is heard—pray with faith, and your prayer will be answered.”

“It is not always so,” replied I; “you have told me of many people who have died of starvation.”

“I grant it, and for all-wise purposes they were permitted so to do; but the Almighty had reasons for permitting it, unknown to us, but which you may depend upon it, were good. We cannot fathom His decrees. He may even now decide that such is to be our fate; but if so, depend upon it, Frank, all is right, and what appears to you now as cruel and neglectful of you, would, if the future could be looked into by us, prove to have been an act of mercy.”

“Do you think, then, that we shall starve?”

“I do not—I have too much faith in God’s mercy, and I do not think that He would have preserved our lives by preventing the men from taking us into the boat if we were now to starve. God is not inconsistent; and I feel assured that, forlorn as our present position appears to be, and tried as our faith in Him may be, we shall still be preserved, and live to be monuments of his gracious love and kindness.”

These words of my mother and the implicit confidence which she appeared to have, much revived me. “Well,” said I, “I hope you are right, my dear mother; and now I think of it,” continued I, brightening up at the idea, “if the worst come to the worst, we can eat the birds; I don’t care much for them now, and if I did, you should not starve, mother.”

“I believe you would not hesitate to sacrifice the birds, Frank; but a greater sacrifice may be demanded of you.”

“What?” inquired I; and then after a little thought I said, “You don’t mean Nero, mother?”

“To tell the truth, I did mean Nero, Frank; for the birds will not be a support for more than a day or two.”

“I never could kill Nero, mother,” replied I, gloomily; and walking away into the cabin, I sat down very melancholy at the idea of my favourite being sacrificed; to me it appeared quite horrible, and my mother having referred to it, made her fall very much in my good opinion. Alas! I was indeed young and foolish, and little thought what a change would take place in my feelings. As for the birds, as I really did not care for them, I resolved to kill two of them for our day’s meal, and returning to the platform I had laid hold of the two that were there and had seized both by the neck, when my mother asked me what I was going to do.

“Kill them, and put them in the pot for our dinner,” replied I.

“Nay, Frank! You are too hasty. Let us make some little sacrifice, even for the poor birds. We surely can fast one day without very great suffering. To-morrow will be time enough.”

I dropped the birds from my hand, tacitly consenting to her proposal. It was not, however, for the sake of the birds that I did so, but because one day’s respite for the birds would be a day’s respite for Nero.

“Come,” said my mother, “let us go into the cabin and get some work. I will alter some of the clothes for you. What will you do?”

“I don’t know,” replied I, “but I will do whatever you tell me.”

“Well, then, I perceive that the two fishing-lines are much worn, and they may break very soon, and then we shall be without the means of taking fish, even if the weather is fine; so now we will cut off some of the whale-line, and when it is unravelled, I will show you how to lay it up again into fishing-line; and, perhaps, instead of altering the clothes, I had better help you, as fishing-lines are now of more consequence to us than anything else.”

This was an arrangement which I gladly consented to. In a short time the whale-line was unravelled, and my mother showed me how to lay it up in three yarns, so as to make a stout fishing-line. She assisted, and the time passed away more rapidly than I had expected it would.

“You are very clever, mother,” said I.

“No, my child, I am not, but I certainly do know many things which women in general are not acquainted with; but the reason of this is, I have lived a life of wandering, and occasional hardships. Often left to our own resources, when my husband and I were among strangers, we found the necessity of learning to do many things for ourselves, which those who have money usually employ others to do for them; but I have been in situations where even money was of no use, and had to trust entirely to myself. I have, therefore, always made it a rule to learn everything that I could; and as I have passed much of my life in sailing over the deep waters, I obtained much useful knowledge from the seamen, and this of laying up fishing-lines is one of the arts which they communicated to me. Now, you see, I reap the advantage of it.”

“Yes,” replied I; “and so do I. How lucky it was that you came to this island.”

“Lucky for me, do you mean, Frank?”

“No, mother! I mean how lucky for me.”

“I trust that I have been sent here to be useful, Frank, and with that feeling I cheerfully submit to the will of God. He has sent me that I may be useful to you, I do not doubt; and if by my means you are drawn towards Him, and, eventually, become one of His children, I shall have fulfilled my mission.”

“I do not understand you quite, mother.”

“No, you cannot as yet; but everything in season,” replied she, slowly musing. “‘First the blade, then the ear, and then the full corn in the ear.’”

“Mother,” said I, “I should like to hear the whole story of your life. You know I have told you all that I know about myself. Now, suppose you tell me your history, and that of your husband. You did say that perhaps one day you would. Do you recollect?”

“Yes, I do recollect that I did make a sort of promise, Frank, and I promise you now that some day I will fulfil it; but I am not sure that you will understand or profit by the history now, so much as you may by-and-bye.”

“Well, but mother, you can tell me the story twice, and I shall be glad to hear it again; so tell it to me now, to amuse me, and by-and-bye, that I may profit by it.”

My mother smiled, which she very seldom did, and said—

“Well, Frank, as I know you would at any time give up your dinner to listen to a story, and as you will have no dinner to-day, I think it is but fair that I should consent to your wish. Who shall I begin with—with my husband or with myself?”

“Pray begin with your own history,” replied I.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

“I am the daughter of a parish clerk in a small market-town near the southern coast of England, within a few miles of a large seaport.”

“What is a parish clerk?” I asked, interrupting my mother at the commencement of her promised narrative.

“A parish clerk,” she replied, “is a man who is employed in the parish or place to which he belongs, to fulfil certain humble duties in connection with the church or place of worship where the people meet together to worship God.”

“What does he do there?” I inquired.

“He gives out the psalms that are to be sung, leads the congregation in making their responses to the minister appointed to perform the services of the church; has the custody of the registry of births, deaths, and burials of the inhabitants, and the care of the church monuments, and of other property belonging to the building. In some places he also fulfils the duties of bell-ringer and grave-digger; that is to say, by ringing a large bell at the top of the church, he summons the people to their devotions, during their lives, and digs a hole in consecrated ground, surrounding the sacred building, to receive their bodies when dead.”

I mused on this strange combination of offices, and entertained a notion of the importance of such a functionary, which I afterwards found was completely at variance with the real state of the case.

“My father,” she resumed, “not only fulfilled all these duties, but contrived to perform the functions of schoolmaster to the parish children.”

“What are parish children?” I asked eagerly. “I know what children are, as Jackson represented to me that I was the child of my father and mother—but what makes children parish children?”

“They are the children of the poor,” Mrs Reichardt replied, “who, not being able to afford them instruction, willingly allow them to be taught at the expense of the people of the parish generally.”

I thought this a praiseworthy arrangement. I knew nothing of poor’s-rates, and the system of giving relief to the poor of the parish, so long used in England, afterwards explained to me; but the kindness and wisdom of this plan of instruction became evident to my understanding. I was proceeding to ask other questions, when my mother stopped them by saying, that if I expected her to get through her story, I must let her proceed without further interruption; for many things would be mentioned by her, which demanded explanation, for one so completely unaware of their existence as myself, and that it would be impossible to make me thoroughly acquainted with such things within any reasonable time; the proper explanations she promised should follow. She then proceeded.

“My father, it may be thought, had enough on his hands; but in an obscure country town, it is not unusual for one man to unite the occupations of several, and this was particularly the case with my father, who, in addition to the offices I have enumerated, was the best cattle-doctor and bone-setter within ten miles, and often earned his bread at different kinds of farmer’s work; such as thatching, hedging, ditching, and the like. Nevertheless, he found time to read his Bible, and bring up his only daughter religiously. This daughter was myself.”

“What had become of your mother?” I asked, as I thought it strange Mrs Reichardt should only mention one parent.

“She had died very soon after my birth,” she answered, “and I was left at first to the care of a poor woman, who nursed me; as soon, however, as I could run about, and had exhibited some signs of intelligence, my father began to get so partial to me, that he very reluctantly allowed me to go out of his sight. He took great pains in teaching me what he knew; and though the extent of his acquirements was by no means great, it was sufficient to lay a good foundation, and establish a desire for more comprehensive information, which I sought every available means to obtain.

“I remember that at a very early age, I exhibited an extraordinary curiosity for a child, constantly asking questions, not only of my father, but of all his friends and visitors; and, as they seemed to consider me a quick and lively child, they took pleasure in satisfying my inquisitive spirit. In this way I gained a great deal of knowledge, and, by observation of what passed around me, a great deal more.

“It soon became a source of pride and gratification with my father, to ask me to read the Bible to him. This naturally led to a good many inquiries on my part, and numerous explanations on his. In course of time, I became familiar with all the sacred writings, and knew their spirit and meaning much better than many persons who were more than double my age.

“My fondness for such studies, and consequent reputation, attracted the attention of Dr Brightwell, the clergyman of our parish, who had the kindness to let me share the instructions of his children, and still further advanced my education, and still more increased my natural predilection for religious information. By the time I was thirteen, I became quite a prodigy in Christian learning, and was often sent for to the parsonage, to astonish the great people of the neighbourhood, by the facility with which I answered the most puzzling questions that were put to me, respecting the great mysteries of Christianity.”

Chapter Thirty.

“It was about this time that I first became acquainted with an orphan boy, an inmate of the workhouse, who had been left to the care of the parish, by the sudden death of his parents, a German clockmaker and his wife, from a malignant fever which had visited the neighbourhood, and taken off a considerable portion of the labouring population. I had been sent on errands from my father to the master of the workhouse, a severe, sullen man, of whom I had a great dread, and I noticed this child, in consequence of his pale and melancholy countenance, and apparently miserable condition. I observed that no one took any notice of him; and that he was allowed to wander about the great straggling workhouse, among the insane, the idiotic, and the imbecile, without the slightest attention being paid to his going and coming; in short, he lived the wretched life of a workhouse boy.

“I see that you are eager to ask what is a workhouse boy,” said my mother, “so I will anticipate your question. There is, in the various parishes of the country to which we both belong, a building expressly set apart for the accommodation and support of the destitute and disabled poor. It usually contains inmates of all ages, from the infant just born to the very aged, whose infirmities show them to be on the verge of the grave. They are all known to be in a state of helpless poverty, and quite unable to earn a subsistence for themselves. In this building they are clothed and fed; the younger provided with instruction necessary to put them in the way of earning a livelihood; the elders of the community enjoying the consolations of religion, accorded to them by the regular visits of the chaplain.”

“I suppose,” I here observed, “that the people who lived there were deeply impressed with their good fortune in finding such an asylum?”

“As far as I could ever ascertain,” Mrs Reichardt replied, “it was exactly the reverse. It was always thought so degrading to enter a workhouse, that the industrious labourer would endure any and every privation rather than live there. An honest hard-working man must be sorely driven indeed, to seek such a shelter in his distress.”

“That seems strange,” I observed. “Why should he object to receive what he so much stands in need of?”

“When he thus comes upon the funds of the parish,” answered my mother, “he becomes what is called a pauper, and among the English peasantry of the better sort, there is the greatest possible aversion to be ranked with this degraded class. Consequently, the inmates of the workhouses are either those whose infirmities prevent their earning a subsistence, or the idle and the dissolute, who feel none of the honest prejudices of self-dependence, and care only to live from day to day on the coarse and meagre fare afforded them by the charity of their wealthier and more industrious fellow-creatures.

“The case of this poor boy I thought very pitiable. I found out that his name was Heinrich Reichardt. He could speak no language but his own and therefore his wants remained unknown, and his feelings unregarded. He had been brought up with a certain sense of comfort and decency, which was cruelly outraged by the position in which he found himself placed by the sudden death of his parents. I observed that he was often in tears; and his fair features and light hair contrasted remarkably with the squalid faces and matted locks of his companions. His wretchedness never failed to make a deep impression on me.

“I brought him little presents, and strove to express my sympathy for his sufferings. He seemed, at first, more surprised than grateful; but I shortly discovered that my attentions gave him unusual pleasure, and he looked upon my visits as his only solace and gratification.

“Even at this period, I exercised considerable influence over my father, and I managed to interest him in the case of the poor foreign boy to such an extent, that he was induced to take him out of the workhouse, and find him a home under his own roof. He was at first reluctant to burthen himself with the bringing up of a child, who, from his foreign language and habits, could be of little use to him in his avocations; but I promised to teach him English, and all other learning of which he stood most in need, and assured my father, that in a prodigious short time I would make him a much abler assistant than he was likely to find among the boys of the town.

“My father’s desire to please me, rather than any faith he reposed in my assertions, led him to allow me to do as I pleased in this affair. I lost no time, therefore, in beginning my course of instruction, and in a few weeks ascertained that I had an apt pupil, who was determined to proceed with his education as fast as circumstances would admit. We were soon able to express our ideas to each other, and in a few months read together the book out of which I had received so many invaluable lessons.

“In a short time I became not less proud of, than partial to, my pupil. I took him through the same studies which I had pursued under the auspices of our clergyman, and was secretly pleased to find, not only that he was singularly quick in imbibing my instructions, but displayed a strong natural taste for those investigations towards which I had shown so marked a bias.

“Day after day have we sat together discoursing of the great events recorded in Holy Writ: going over every chapter of its marvellous records, page by page, till the whole were so firmly fixed upon our minds, that we had no necessity during our conversations for referring to the Sacred Book. We found examples we held up to ourselves for imitation;—we found incidents we regarded as promises of Divine Protection; we found consolation and comfort, as well as exhortation and advice; and, moreover, we found a sort of instruction that led us to select for ourselves duties that apparently tended to bring us nearer to the Great Being, whose goodness we had so diligently studied.

“My father seemed as much pleased with my successful teaching, as he had been with my successful learning; and when young Reichardt turned out a remarkably handy and intelligent lad, to whose assistance in some of his avocations he could have recourse with perfect confidence in his cleverness and discretion, he grew extremely partial to him. Dr Brightwell also proved his friend, and in a few years, the condition of the friendless workhouse boy was so changed, he could not have been taken for the same person.

“He was a boy of a very grateful spirit, and always regarded me with the devotion of a most thankful heart. Often would he contrast the wretchedness of his previous condition with the happiness he now enjoyed, and express in the warmest terms his obligations to me for the important service I had rendered him in rescuing him from the abject misery of the workhouse. Under these circumstances, it is not extraordinary that we should learn to regard each other with the liveliest feelings of affection, and while we were still children,—endured all the transports and torments which make up the existence of more experienced lovers.”

“I do not like interrupting you,” I here observed, “but I certainly should like to know what is meant by the word lovers?”

“I can scarcely explain it to you satisfactorily at present,” said Mrs Reichardt, with a smile; “but I have no doubt, before many years have passed over your head—always provided that you escape from this island—you will understand it without requiring any explanation. But I must now leave my story, as many things of much consequence to our future welfare now demand my careful attention.”

I could not then ascertain from her what was meant by the word whose meaning I had asked. It had very much excited my curiosity; but she left me to attend to her domestic duties, of which she was extremely regardful, and I had no opportunity at that time of eliciting from her the explanation I desired.

Chapter Thirty One.

It is impossible for me to overrate the value of Mrs Reichardt’s assistance. Indeed had it not been for her, circumstanced as I was at this particular period, I should in all probability have perished. Her exhortations saved me from despair, when our position seemed to have grown quite desperate. But example did more, even, than precept. Her ingenuity in devising expedients; her activity in putting them in force; her unfailing cheerfulness under disappointment, and Christian resignation under privation, produced the best results. I was enabled to bear up against the ill effects of our crippled resources, consequent upon the ill conduct of the sailors of the whaler, and the failure of our fish-pond.

She manufactured strong lines for deep-sea fishing, and having discovered a shelf of rock, little more than two feet above the sea, to which with a good deal of difficulty I could descend, I took my stand one day on the rock with my lines baited with a piece of one of my feathered favourites, whom dire necessity had at last forced me to destroy. I waited with all the patience of a veteran angler. I knew the water to be very deep, and it lay in a sheltered nook or corner of the rocks about ten feet across; I allowed the line to drop some three or four yards, and not having any float, could only tell I had a bite by feeling a pull at the line, which was wound round my arm.

After some time having been passed in this way, my attention was withdrawn from the line, and given to the narrative I had so lately heard; that is to say, though my eyes were still fixed upon the line, I had completely given up my thoughts to the story of the poor German boy, who had been snatched from poverty by the interference of the parish clerk’s daughter; and I contrived to speculate on what I should have done under such circumstances, imagining all sorts of extravagances in which I should have indulged, to testify my gratitude to so amiable and benevolent a friend.

A singular course of ideal scenes followed each other in quick succession in my mind—as I fancied myself the hero of a similar adventure. I regarded my imaginary benefactress with feelings of such intensity as I had never before experienced; and it seemed that I was to her the exciting object of sentiments of a like nature, the knowledge of which awoke in our hearts the most agreeable sensations.