"Yes, sir, alone on this island," I answered.
He was going to say more but I begged him to desist until he was stronger, and until he was able to proceed to the house.
He expressed himself as being fully able to do so, and as he seemed anxious about his daughter I assisted him to rise; and, placing an arm about him I supported him as he walked slowly to the house.
The meeting of father and daughter was a joyous one. The girl was able to sit up and the color was returning to her cheeks. I could not help noticing at a glance that she was very pretty, tall with a slender well moulded figure, with brown hair and blue eyes and a clear complexion. She was, I judged, anywhere from seventeen to nineteen years old. With usual feminine thoughtfulness of her appearance she had already coiled her hair neatly and rearranged her damp garments as well as she was able. While I stirred up the fire so that my visitors might dry their clothes, the father related, briefly, the story of their experiences.
His name was Richard Harborough, of Halifax, Nova Scotia, from which port the wrecked barkentine, Three Sisters, of which he was the owner, hailed. His family consisted of his wife, and three daughters for whom his vessel was named. He had determined to make a voyage in his vessel for health and recreation and his daughter Marjorie, a student at Dalhousie College, whose health had been impaired by overstudy, had accompanied him, the family physician strongly recommending a voyage in the southern seas as a restorative.
The Three Sisters had taken out a cargo of general merchandise to Demerara, British Guiana, and after discharging she had proceeded to Greytown, British Honduras, where she had taken in a partial cargo of mahogany for Boston, proceeding from the Central American coast to San Domingo where she took on board sufficient logwood to complete her cargo. During heavy weather the seas that came aboard had polluted her fresh-water casks and seeing the island just at dusk they had put in toward it intending to anchor until morning and then to come ashore and refill her casks. But the storm broke upon her, the rain obscured the island, and she would have gone ashore had she not struck one of the hidden coral reefs. What prevented her masts from going overboard the men could not explain; but it must have been a miracle, they said. As soon as the barkentine struck, the anchor was let go, by which it was hoped she would be prevented from drifting, until daylight. When first I saw the men on the deck they were hauling up the anchor, finding that the barkentine had not drifted, with the intention of taking it to windward and trying to work her off the reef by heaving at the windlass. But realizing that the vessel was hopelessly aground, and fearing that she might break up, it was decided to try to reach the shore, the result of which attempt I had witnessed.
CHAPTER XVI
Pleasant Companions; Enlarging the House.
I told them, as briefly as possible, the story of my exile on the island, to which they listened, seemingly with the greatest interest, refraining, on account of delicacy, I supposed, from asking about my strange garb.
"And now," I said at the conclusion of my narrative, "you must make yourselves at home and as comfortable as possible, while I see about dinner"--for it was just mid-day--"and then we will attend to the poor fellow who lies outside on the beach."