“Let us build ourselves a shelter with the planks of the broken ship, she will never sail blue water again,” said one sailor.
“Nay,” replied another, “rather let us build a house for God, let us leave a church on this island. We need no shelter in the warm May weather, no rain will fall for months yet, I warrant, and some of those rare trees yonder will be our fittest roof.”
“But of what use can a church be when none dwell here to worship?” asked a third.
“Doubtless many will come to dwell here when we return home and tell the story of the new land, and many ships will stay here to rest the sailors and to gather stores. Were it not well done that they should find prepared a place which should remind them of their duty to their God, and of His care of them?”
“And,” said the captain, speaking now for the first time, “were it not well done that we, whom He has so wonderfully preserved, should try even in this imperfect fashion to show our gratitude? He will accept even such poor service, therefore, in my judgment, let it be done.”
“Let it be done,” cried all, and, as if impatient to begin, the sailors rushed knee-deep into the sea, seizing and drawing high on the beach the floating spars and planks ready for their new service.
But before such work could be begun it was needful to explore the new land, to search for any traces of inhabitants, and above all to discover, if possible, food and water to refresh themselves.
There was one high peak, towering above the many hills which crowned the island, and towards this a party of sailors made their way, keeping closely together for fear that the natives of the land might suddenly attack them from rock or thicket.
The steep, rugged, broken hill was scaled at last, and from its summit the adventurers looked down on their place of refuge. They were on an island, which seemed to be some miles in length; it was thickly covered with trees, and in one part a broad, open plain, fresh and fertile, stretched before them. There were many streams, dancing merrily down the broken cliffs, or shaded by tall tree-ferns and waving grasses. But nowhere was there any sign of human habitation; no palm-roofed huts, no canoes, no figures crossing the open spaces between the trees. And not only man, but even animals seemed wanting here.
The place was a complete solitude; the sea-birds had not strayed farther than the cliffs where their nests were made, and save one little brown bird, not unlike a sparrow, which chirped among the boughs, the sailors neither heard nor saw any signs of life.