“August 18.—The strange crane lies trussed in a corner of the saloon. We force him to eat a little, and Bob sits near him and licks his face.
“To-day Bob went off by himself. He was away for hours, and we thought we should never see him again; but in the afternoon he returned, driving before him five little black pigs. Thin and miserable are they, but a godsend nevertheless.
“Lava pouring down the hill-side all night long, shimmering green, red, and orange through the sulphurous haze.”
“August 20.—Men more cheerful to-day. The clouds have cleared away, and we can see the sea, and the sun is less red.
“Halcott and I climbed Observatory Hill. What a scene! The once beautiful island is burnt as it were to a cinder. Trees are scorched; all, all is dead. We could not bear to look at it. But we cut down the flag-pole, and brought away the ensign. They are useless now.
“Who will be the next to die? ‘O Father,’ I cry in my agony, ‘spare my life while my little one lives, that I may minister to her till the last! Then take my boy and me!’”
“August 22.—Four bells in the middle-watch. I awoke an hour ago with a start. Halcott, too, had rushed into the saloon.
“‘Did you hear it?’ he cried wildly.
“Yes, I had heard.
“The unusual sound awoke us all—the sound of a ship blowing off steam in the bay yonder, far beneath us. The sound of anchor chains rattling out, the sound of voices—the voices of brave British sailors!