When I returned with the rope in the morning, as I came near the tent and while it was still hidden from view by the intervening foliage, I heard the voices of father and daughter joined in a hymn,—the clear, rich soprano of the girl, flute-like and full, mingling in harmony with the noble baritone of the old man, whose voice was still unbroken by age. I paused a moment to listen to the wonderful song of praise, in which were mingled the deep booming bass of the surf, the myriad voices of the birds trilling an accompaniment, and the interwoven notes of the hymn, rising and falling together in sweet accord,—and my own heart was lifted up to the great Creator to whom such praise, I thought, might prove quite as acceptable as though sung by a full-voiced choir beneath cathedral arches to the accompaniment of the majestic chords of an organ.
When the strains of the hymn had ceased I came up, and the hearty greeting which I received was very pleasant. Indeed, the friendly sense of comradeship had become very strong among us all; and I have no doubt they were as glad to see me after this short absence as I truly was to see them.
After breakfast Mr. Millward and I began again at an early hour the work of filling, towing, placing, and weighting the trees. This day we placed five in position. The next day we brought and placed five more, by which time the entire mouth of the chasm was so full of the trunks, branches, and twigs that we could get no more in place. The fourth day of our labors we spent in casting loose rocks in among the branches. The fifth day we passed in watching this chevaux de frise and noting the effect of the waves, as they came frothing through the mass of twigs and branches. The structure—if such it may be called—held firmly and broke the swell completely.
We could do no more. The remainder of the work must be accomplished by the waves themselves in their own time and way. For this we must wait their pleasure. There was still quite a strong current through the chasm, and I wished very much that this could be lessened, as its tendency was of course to carry through a large portion of the sand which might otherwise be retained. When I spoke of this to Mr. Millward he immediately proposed that we should partly fill the narrow exit passage with rocks and limbs to check this current, and on the sixth day we began this job. Instead of floating whole trees, which we could not have managed to get into place without the aid of an ingoing swell, we cut and carried limbs and branches, which, together with rocks, were thrown down from above, until the end of the exit passage was a frothing mass of water struggling through the tangle. This very much lessened the current, and we were well satisfied with the work. That evening we sailed the two boats back to Home Creek and moored them in their former haven. The next day, which was the Sabbath, we spent in rest at home, leaving the waves now to do their work, and confident that no harm could come to the hulk if the fair weather would continue for a few days longer.
In the morning, while we were seated beneath the shed, Mr. Millward read selections from the Psalms, in his deep, sonorous voice and impressive manner. We joined afterward in prayer and hymn, and when this simple service was over I started with Alice for a walk on the beach to the south, while Mr. Millward composed himself for a comfortable smoke in the shade. The walking on the sand just above the reach of the waves, and yet where it was wet by an occasional toppling roller that came spuming up the slope farther than its fellows, was excellent, for the wetted sand was hard and firm and cool to the feet. Everywhere lay fragments of sea-weed, shells, and the curious forms of sea life cast up by the waves. We amused ourselves by collecting specimens of the many-tinted weeds, mosses, and fragile structures, whether vegetable or animal I know not, nor could any save a naturalist draw the dividing line. Alice explained how these delicate forms could be spread out and dried, by first floating them in water until they were untangled, and then lifting them out by a plate of glass and drying them on paper.
“I look forward now,” said she, “to the time when we shall be sailing away from our island home, and I would like to carry with me something by which to remember this beautiful beach.”
“Are you getting tired of the life, Miss Millward?”
“Ah, no,” she quickly answered, “not tired of it; far from that. It seems now quite like a home to me. You must remember that it is many years since father and I have remained so long in one place as we have been here. I have grown quite to love this beautiful island. And the work and the life is a real pleasure to me. But yet I fear that father is pining to be back to his work, or to civilization, though he has not yet said so in my hearing. It is hard, you know, for an old man to change his habits.”
“I suppose you would find it pleasanter if you had some one of your own sex as a companion,” said I.
“Perhaps so,” thoughtfully, “but I have never had any girl friends, you know, in all my life; for we have been here in this region, among the islands, since I was quite a child, and have gone about from place to place so much that I have had no chance to meet such friends as I might feel like making my companions. The people are mostly of quite another religion from ours,—those who are white I mean,—and though I have many friends among the colored people, the Hindoos and others, the friendship has not made me any comrades. Father has often said that he feared it was his duty to send me north among people of my own kind, that I might learn better what life in this world really means. But I think I do know, for it must be much the same everywhere; and I should not like to leave father here alone.”