Chapter VII.
Poor Charles now allowed himself to count the number of weeks, upon the trees which he had marked, and found that he had passed almost thirteen in this state of solitude; therefore the time had arrived, when he might with probability hope for relief. If his father and Sambo (as he hoped) had been taken out of the boat, and carried back to India, or to some of the islands situate between Africa and Asia, by this time it might be supposed they would find the means of returning; and at all events, this was the time when the captain said they might begin to look out for vessels. It was yet rather cool, but symptoms of spring were already seen, and he would begin to navigate his boat shortly; "he would manage to put in a mast, to spread his sail, lay in a little store, and stand out to sea; and he would take care that his two pennons were seen flying at either end of the island." Having contrived, with some flexible branches, the frame by which he extricated his tin case, Charles was induced to try his power of making a bow and arrow, with which to kill the birds necessary for food, as he became more and more afraid of using powder, the nearer the time came when it was likely to aid him in escaping.
Having found a paper of strong needles and bodkins, in the work-box already mentioned, he was enabled to manage this business in a short time, and became, by practice, an excellent marksman; but he had much trouble, from the insufficient strength of the string, which was of silk twist, found in the same depository. He also now used the pillow-case as a fishing net, in the little streams, opening the mouth with bamboos, and placing it in little falls of the rivulet, and when any fish went in, drawing it suddenly up, by which means he gained many delicious meals; but there were times when he was reduced to nothing but his dates, which lasted out extremely well, but had quite lost all sweetness and flavour, and afforded but little nourishment.
At length he succeeded in getting his boat out to sea; and as he disliked that side of the island where it lay, as being frequented by enormous fishes, his first care was to get round to the little promontory, which he effected very successfully, contriving to fasten it to the tree from which his flag was suspended, and on leaving it, waded to the shore, a considerable distance, having no better method of proceeding. It was now his constant custom to go every morning into the highest tree in the island, where he generally stayed to reconnoitre, about an hour; he then returned to the hut, and breakfasted, and afterwards, with Poll on his shoulder, went down to the promontory, taking either his new book or his Bible; and there he sat, where his poor father had sat before him, from time to time, casting anxious looks over the wide expanse of ocean around him, sometimes agitating himself with the idea that he perceived a far-distant sail, but more frequently aware that he saw nothing beyond light clouds in the horizon, and that the time had not yet arrived, when the ships might be expected.
As he could now clearly perceive the island of Amsterdam, he could not forbear to fancy, that if he could once reach that, one great step would be taken towards his emancipation.—"If there are any American sailors there now," said he, "as there was when the captain was there, how happy I should be to see them, and live with them, because I speak their language, and they would be just the same as my countrymen! and if they took me home to New York, or Boston, I should feel as if I were going to London, and I could soon be sent thence to England; or they would be very glad to use my boat, and fetch fresh water from my island, as they have none of their own; at all events, I will go and see them." Full of this idea, one beautiful day, when there was a very pleasant breeze just in the right direction, Charles shipped his parrot, and his tin case with provisions, hoisting the sail, which he had contrived to fix with considerable ingenuity, in the manner he had seen practised by the Hindoos, in their market-boats. He soon left his own little island far behind, and with a heart panting between hope and fear, began to believe he had nearly achieved all his wishes. Well recollecting that there was only one place where he could effect a landing, he kept his eye steadily fixed on the island, remembering those points mentioned by Captain Gordon; but became almost appalled as he approached nearer, for its appearance was forbidding, almost terrific. Just at this time, he fell in with a current, which rapidly drew him back, the kindly breeze having already failed. When he was about midway between the two islands, he found himself deserted, as it were, both by wind and current, alike unable to proceed or return, and his distress much increased, by perceiving dark clouds, portentous of rain, and probably of storm, gathering over the face of the sky.
Happily the wind did not obtain much power; but a severe rain fell, which completely soaked him, and rendered it so dark, that he did not dare to proceed, knowing well there was no safe entrance to his island. In this terrible situation, therefore, he remained the whole night, his distress not a little increased by the moanings and vociferations of the parrot, which he heartily wished he had left behind. The rain ceased before morning, but it had left him so drenched, and the boat itself so wet, that he had scarcely the power to exert himself; and it was nearly evening the following day, when he again found himself on the shores of his island, and succeeded, after many laborious efforts, to bring his little vessel to the place whence he had set out; and it was not without danger that he landed himself and the parrot.
It was with a feeling of an extraordinary nature that Charles pursued his way to the hut; often had he thought, when contemplating the effort he had now made, that if he should perish in his attempt, it would be a much better thing than thus to drag on existence, cut off from all the ties of kindred, and the blessings of social life. He now became fully aware, that self-preservation is one of the most abiding propensities of nature, and that he could not forbear to cherish his life, since he was sincerely and warmly thankful to God, for having preserved him from his late danger, and restored him to his humble home, melancholy as it was. His first care was to take a little food, to which he drank some brandy and water, having frequently regretted, during the preceding night, that he had not placed this flask among his sea stores. He then proceeded to make a good fire, that he might dry his clothes; and was now thankful for the old sailor's jacket, which he put on whilst his own dried, taking off his other things by degrees, and holding them till they were dry, as he durst not leave them out, lest the rain should come on again. Finding himself many times so sleepy that he was nearly falling, he retired very soon to bed, thankful for that accommodation he had felt the want of so lately; and had soon forgotten all his troubles, and was perhaps, in his dreams, wafted over pleasanter seas than those he had lately proved, and received into a far different dwelling from that where his weary head was now pillowed.
How long he had continued in that deep sleep which followed his fatigue, we know not, but when he was awakened, he thought for a moment that it was high noon, for the hut was full of light, more full indeed than it had been for a long time. He started up, and became sensible of an oppression in his breathing, which at first he thought might proceed from the parrot hanging round his throat, as it sometimes did; but no parrot was there—his hand fell upon him under the bedclothes. At this moment there was a terrible crackling and hissing, like the burning of green wood, and instantly he became sensible that his hut was on fire. Gathering his blanket and the bird in it, closely round him, he rose, and burst resolutely through the stack of burning sticks, which covered the front of his dwelling, and which were so far consumed, that they gave way and crumbled to pieces as he pressed upon them; and he escaped without injury, except to his feet, which were a little scorched, but which he did not feel, at the present moment of terrible alarm. When he had got sufficiently far from the fire for personal safety, his first care was to see if he had indeed preserved the parrot; and finding Poll was uninjured, save by fright (for the creature trembled exceedingly), he rolled him in the blanket, and ventured again towards the hut.
It was now early morning, but very gloomy; a slight rain was falling, and Charles earnestly hoped it would increase, as the only means of preserving the contents of his hut from destruction. The consequence of losing his mattress, clothes, gun, indeed, all his means of existence, rushed forcibly on his mind, and gave him a sense of new sorrow and helplessness which almost distracted him.—"What shall I do?" he cried, in agony. "Oh, my God, have pity upon me! have pity upon me!" The sound of his voice alarmed the parrot anew, and the poor creature screamed so loud, that Charles was called upon by his humanity (which never forsook him) to return to it. He thought that perhaps in his fright he had smothered the poor bird, and he hastened to unrol the blanket, and liberate the sufferer. In doing this, he regained the presence of mind so necessary for himself: he recollected hearing that a wet blanket was an excellent thing for putting out fire, and he lost not a moment in plunging this into the stream, and then carrying it, all dripping, to his hut, when he again stepped through the hot ashes, and spread it over the place which was just beginning to take fire.
The heat and smoke were at this moment quite suffocating, yet conscious of his own wet state, he stopped to snatch his shoes, and an empty calabash, with which he made so many journeys to the spring, that (with the assistance of the rain) he had soon the satisfaction of believing that the danger was over, and the contents of his hut safe, though damaged: the smell was intolerable, the smoke oppressive, but the danger was passed. Had it occurred in summer, the whole island would unquestionably have been on fire, like that of Madeira soon after its discovery.
Kneeling down within sight of the smouldering spot, Charles devoutly thanked his Almighty Preserver for his almost miraculous delivery from an awful and terrible death; and under the impression thus made, professed himself humbly resigned to enduring the evils of life, in that way which it might please his Heavenly Father to inflict, entreating that he might, in all things, be enabled to say from his heart—"Not my will, but thine, be done." When he rose from his knees, Poll flew upon his shoulder, and in his usual way, intimated his desire for breakfast. After throwing a few more gallons of water about the place, Charles took the only method of complying with his request now convenient, by setting off for the boat. The morning was exceedingly misty, so that it was of no use to climb the trees which he passed in his road; but by the time he arrived, the sun shone pleasantly, and the rain seemed over. He stripped off his clothes, thinking that a sea-bathe would do him good; and on getting to the boat, found the tin case and the shawl-sail perfectly safe, but he brought them both away with him; and on his return, sat down and breakfasted, as well as Poll, though the repeated frights he had suffered, in the last forty-eight hours, and the great fatigue he had gone through, made him feel so unwell, that, for a short time, he was afraid that the fever was returning.
After sitting two hours quietly, and reading two or three chapters in the New Testament (his Bible having been left in his tin box), he felt himself much recovered; and not doubting but the smoke was now entirely gone, he determined on returning to the hut, and examining the extent of his loss, concluding with great truth, that although he should have occasion for much toil, in setting his little homestead to rights, yet that every thing he saw would remind him of the goodness and mercy of God, whose eye must be over all his works, since he had looked upon him, in this desert corner.—"Ah!" exclaimed he, as he pressed the blessed volume to his lips, in which he had been reading, "it is indeed plain, that though I am a poor useless child, and often a naughty one too, 'I am of more value than many sparrows;' yet even they are cared for, by Him who created them."
