A whole month passed away, but no ship ever came; another dragged somewhat more wearily by.
Things were beginning to look a trifle serious, for this reason: there was a limit to the length of time the flour and biscuit would last. When these were done, they would be compelled to live on salt meat, with the fish, fruit, and rabbits they might succeed in getting.
So the men were now—in the third month of their Crusoe-ship—put on an allowance of biscuit. It was deemed advisable also to be as sparing in the expenditure of gunpowder as possible, so the rock-rabbits were snared instead of being shot.
But if no ship appeared, it was satisfactory, on the other hand, that no boats laden with savages hove in sight, so the Crusoes tried to live as contentedly as circumstances would permit.
No fishing, or even snaring of rabbits, took place on the Sabbath. This was kept as a day of rest, and in the forenoons the old captain always called all hands aft. Then a prayer would be offered up, several hymns sung, a chapter of the Bible read and explained or commented on to the best of the good old man’s ability, then, after more singing and another prayer, the men would be dismissed.
But D’Acre was a true sailor, and so every Saturday he caused the main-brace to be spliced. Well spliced, too, not in any half-hearted way, so that the men might enjoy themselves, and drink to those so far away—their mothers, wives, and sweethearts.
And almost every Saturday night the mate would go forward with his fiddle, and Sandie, too, would be there to sing a song. But before eight bells every man had turned in who was not on duty.
. . . . . .
Three long months had passed away, and things began to look serious. The biscuits were done now, and even the beef was running short.
But, oh, joy! one forenoon the signalman on the hill-top was seen to indicate the presence of a ship, and pointed with his large fan in her direction.