Chapter Sixteen.
Domestic Embarrassments.
A Desert Island Breakfast—Persuasive Reasoning—Romance and Reality—The Prince and Princess.
“Now my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not long custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons’ difference; as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter’s wind.”
The next morning “the Islanders,” or some of them, at least, were stirring early; and the first thing that attracted my attention, on opening my eyes, was a busy group, consisting of Max, Eiulo, and Johnny, gathered round a fire at a little distance, and engaged in some apparently very interesting operation. A savoury smell at the same time saluted my olfactory organs, and on approaching the scene of action, to investigate the matter more closely, I found my finny prize of the preceding evening undergoing a somewhat primitive style of cookery, of which Max appeared to be the chief director and superintendent. A number of large oysters were also roasting in the embers; and from these last proceeded the grateful and appetising odour referred to.
“Good morning!” cried Max; “you see we have
breakfast nearly ready; and a breakfast, too, that will be a positive luxury, after so long a course of cocoa-nut diet; how Browne will exult at the sight of it; how his eyes will open—to say nothing of his mouth! And don’t we deserve a vote of thanks for our early labours for the general good?”
Morton and Browne at this moment emerged from their respective heaps of leaves, and, after rather more than the usual amount of yawning and stretching of limbs, came towards the fire.
“Fee, faw, fo, fum!” cried Morton, snuffing the agreeable smell of the cookery in progress, “I trust we’re not too late for breakfast, and that there is something more than the savour of good victuals left.”
“You are in good time,” said Johnny, bustling about the fire with an air of official dignity, “the first bell hasn’t rung yet.”
“But why has Shakespeare such a long face?” said Max; “has camping out caused a reminiscence of rheumatism!”
“Bad dreams, horrible dreams!” answered Browne, shaking his head solemnly, “which came of lying staring at the moon last night, until I fell asleep:”—then throwing himself into an attitude, he commenced declaiming with a tragic air—
“‘O, I have passed a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
That as I am a Christian, faithful man,
I would not pass another such a night
Though ’twere to buy a world of happy days,
So full of dismal terror was the time.’”
“Bravo!” cried Max, applauding furiously, “I like to see that; it’s what I call coming out strong under discouraging circumstances. Here are we, six forlorn castaways, on a desert island, somewhere, (no one knows where), in the Pacific Ocean; and, instead of moping, and sulking, and bemoaning our hard fate, we wake up of a fine morning, quite bright and cheerful, and one of the six, (or seven, more correctly speaking), goes to work spouting Shakespeare, carrying us back to old times, and making us feel, (as Morton would say), like ‘happy schoolboys again.’”
“What’s all this?” cried Arthur, coming forward with a puzzled air, “what is Max making a speech about? has he taken the stump as a candidate for the presidency of the island?”
“He needn’t do that,” said Browne, “we’re not going to have any presidents, or other republican trumpery here; I have formally taken possession of the island in the name of Victoria; and it is therefore a colony of Great Britain; I shall apply, at the first convenient opportunity, for letters patent, making me colonial governor.”
“Tory, monarchist!” cried Max, “recant at once, or you sha’n’t taste a mouthful of my breakfast.”
“Do you think I’ll sell my loyalty for a mess of pottage! No, I’m for a well-regulated monarchy: hurrah for Victoria!”
“Down with the Britisher!” cried Johnny, entering into the spirit of the scene, and tugging at Browne’s coat-tails; “make him hurrah for the stars and stripes, or else don’t give him any of our oysters!”
“You’re surely not going back to the principles of the dark ages—you won’t attack the right of private judgement, and persecute for opinion’s sake.”
“The right of private judgment, indeed!” answered Max, with great contempt. “I hold that no person can have a right, on any pretence whatever, to entertain erroneous opinions on important subjects, affecting the welfare of mankind. If a man does entertain such opinions, it is the duty of those who know better to convince him of the error by the most effectual arguments at their command. It is, therefore, my duty to open your eyes to the blessings of liberal institutions. I have here, (pointing towards the incipient breakfast), the most powerful means to assist and quicken your perception of the truth. Shall I not use those means?”
“The line of argument which you indicate is exceedingly forcible, (how delightfully those oysters smell!) I really think I begin to perceive some of the advantages of republicanism already.”
“With the right of private judgment, properly understood,” resumed Max, “I should be reluctant to interfere. You will, I presume, enjoy the exercise of so precious a privilege, even with a cocoa-nut breakfast, which you can probably obtain, by requesting Prince Eiulo to scale one of yonder tufted trees.”
“How clear the matter becomes with a little reflection,” observed Browne ”(this camping out in the open air gives one a famous appetite). In fact your reasoning is almost irresistible, (that fish looks particularly nice), and really I begin to think I can safely profess myself a good republican—until after breakfast at any rate.”
Max’s culinary operations being at last completed, Johnny placed a huge shell to his lips, and sounded a long blast by way of announcement that breakfast was ready. The fish was served up in a fresh palm-leaf, and Johnny declared with much complacency, that not all the crockery-stores in New York, could furnish a platter of such royal dimensions. The leaves of the hibiscus, served admirably for plates; for knives and forks, we used the strong stalks, or central fibres, of cocoa-nut leaflet; which, with fingers in reserve for an emergency, answered at least as well as the chopsticks of the Chinese. Upon the whole, it cannot be denied that our table-service, simple as it was, has its advantages: it involved no necessity for any washing of dishes, no anxiety on the score of broken crockery, and we could indulge in the extravagance of a new dinner set every day, or even at every meal, for that matter, if so disposed.
The fish proved most excellent, resembling the striped bass in flavour and appearance: as to the oysters, they were unanimously voted equal to Shrewsburys.
“Ah!” sighed Max, “if we had now but a cup of coffee and a hot roll, those inestimable blessings of civilisation, we could almost forget that we are on a desert island.”
“Wait until the bread-fruit ripens,” said Arthur, “and we shall have a tolerably fair substitute for your ‘hot rolls.’ Eiulo will show us the most approved mode of preparing it, and we shall find it nearly equal to the wheaten loaf.”
“All that Max seems to think about, is the eating,” said Browne, swallowing the last remaining oyster, “but I begin to feel troubled about another matter: see, I am getting fairly out at the elbows, and neither ‘coffee and rolls,’ nor roast-beef and plum-pudding in indefinite quantities, would afford me any satisfaction, compared to the possession of a supply of clothing, or even a few changes of linen—in fact, comrades, what are we to do? There is danger that we shall all become savages: I begin to feel a loss of self-respect already.”
“We shall have to go into the manufacturing business, I suppose,” said Arthur. “I have often watched the whole process of making tappa, or native cloth, from the bark of the paper-mulberry; it is quite simple, and I have no doubt we can succeed in it; I have talked with Eiulo on the subject and find that he understands the process thoroughly.”
“But are there any paper-mulberries on the island!” inquired Morton.
“I have not seen any,” answered Arthur. “If there are none, the bark of the bread-fruit tree will answer nearly as well: the cloth made from it is as strong and durable, though not so fine.”
“For the present, and before we go into home manufactures,” said Max, “I advise Shakespeare, in order to avoid the loss of his remaining self-respect in consequence of wearing foul linen, to betake himself to the beach, wash his garments, and take a bath until they dry in the sun, which is the course I intend to pursue myself.”
“And what are we going to do for shoes, I wonder!” said Johnny, “mine are badly cracked and torn, and nearly worn out: we shall all have to go barefoot!” and he looked aghast at the thought.
“We must kill a shark by-and-bye,” said Arthur, “when we have nothing more pressing to do; and we can make leggins, or moccasins, from the skin.”
“How these things kill the romance and poetry of desert island life!” said Max, “there’s no romance about being out at the elbows, or being obliged to wear dirty linen—”
“Or in doing one’s own washing in salt-water, and sitting naked while one’s clothes are drying,” interposed Browne, pathetically.
“Or in having your toes poke out at the end of your boots,” added Morton, advancing his right foot in illustration.
“No! these are all stern realities,” said Max, “cases not provided for in the story-books; how is it, Johnny, are there any precedents going to show how desert islanders do their washing and mending?”
“I think they generally saved heaps of clothes from the wreck,” answered Johnny, gravely. “Robinson Crusoe brought off several chests, containing ever so many sailors’ clothes of all sorts; whether there were any shoes or not, I don’t remember: the Swiss family Robinson also obtained an abundance of such things from the wreck of their ship before it sunk; Philip Quarll made garments for himself from the skins of animals.”
“But what are we to do? we havn’t any wreck from which to supply ourselves with chests of clothing, with arms and ammunition, and stores of ship-biscuit and salt provisions. We’re worse off it seems, than any of our predecessors. And since we are not supplied with the requisite capital and stock-in-trade for desert islanders, it is reasonable to infer that we are not destined to a Robinson Crusoe life, so that we may confidently expect to be taken off by some ship, in a short time.”
As we were finishing our breakfast, a couple of tiny, fairy-like tern, came flying round us. They were very tame, and hovered smoothly over our heads, at the distance of sometimes but a few feet. Their plumage was snowy-white, and as they glided quietly around, peering curiously into our faces, you could almost fancy that there was the gleam of intelligence in their large eyes.
“O, what beautiful little birds!” cried Johnny, in great delight: “I wish I had some crumbs of bread for them.”
“Who knows, Johnny,” suggested Max, “but these strange little birds, as they seem to be, are no birds, after all, but an unfortunate prince and princess, who having incurred the resentment of some potent enchanter, have been transformed by his magical arts into their present shape, and banished to this desert island; and have now come to us for sympathy and assistance—see what a mournful expression there is in their mild dark eyes!” Johnny was pleased with the conceit, and the little tern were always afterwards known as the prince and princess. They frequently came hovering around us in the most friendly and fearless manner, when we were in that part of the island.