“Well, sir, there’s Jackson, who was a blacksmith’s apprentice before he ran away and joined the brig at Liverpool.”
“He’ll do; place him at the disposal of Captain Hughes.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” again replied the mate as he went up the hatchway.
“And now, gentlemen, I must look after the brig. So soon as I have moored her head and stern, you can have one of the boats, only I can’t spare you any other hand except Jackson.”
There were plenty of muskets to arm the whole crew, but they had need of much overhauling. The two guns were of respectable size, carrying a nine-pound ball; and what with the necessary cleaning, the making cartridge, and swinging the guns with their carnages, one on to the quarter-deck the other on to the forecastle, the day wore on. The man Jackson turned out a willing, handy fellow, and, understanding his business, was of great use. Neither Dom Maxara nor his daughter appeared on deck.
In the meantime the stream-anchor had been dropped astern, and the cable hove upon until quite taut; the shears had been got on deck; the carpenter was busy with his axe. The remains of the fore-topmast had been removed, for it had broken off short, leaving the head of the foremast uninjured, and already the spare topmast had been swayed aloft and pointed through. The men worked cheerfully and well. Not a sign of life had been seen on shore, and with the exception of the gulls, which were wheeling and circling round the brig, and the Mother Carey’s chickens which were dipping over the boats now veered astern, all outside the vessel was perfectly still. The sound of the breaking surf came with a hollow dull thud at intervals on the breeze, which was gradually dying out, and nothing could present a greater contrast than the quiet, peaceful sheet of water, with its fringes of cocoa-palms, and beach of white shining sand, with the still waters of the bay, to the noise, bustle, and labour going on all day long on board the brig.
The missionary’s fears had not been realised, and night came on quietly and serenely after a day of toil. The wind had quite died away, and the stars were shining brilliantly; indeed, so still was the air that the noise of the river could be heard as it fell into the sea, about the centre of the bay.
The night was warm and oppressive, and on shore the woods seemed filled with enormous fireflies, floating here and there. They were in great quantities, and would settle on the trees, lighting them with myriads of tiny lights, and making them look like pyramids of sparkling diamonds. Some would come floating off towards the brig, the little lights dancing over her decks and settling on her rigging. The scream of the parrots among the trees had ceased, and save occasionally the quack of the ducks feeding in the river, all was still. Silence now reigned on the brig’s decks, for the day had been one of toil. The night was hot, and the men lay thrown about carelessly, wrapped in cloaks, sails, or anything they could find, among the loose spars. On her forecastle two men alone kept watch, one of whom was the mate, Mr Lowe. Aft a small awning had been rigged, and the passengers were enjoying the beautiful tropical night. Cushions had been brought up from the cabin, the smell of the Portuguese tobacco floated on the air, and the coffee-cups lay here and there. The sound of the bell forward, as a seaman rising struck four bells, came ringing over the waters. Drawing her mantilla over her, and speaking languidly and slowly, as if the dreamy influence of the tropical night affected her, Isabel broke the silence, just as the last tone of the bell quivered over the sea.
“We hear none of the noises of the African plain here; all seems still and calm.”
“There are no lions or noxious animals in the island,” replied the missionary. “Oxen of great size are plentiful, wild asses, and sheep with enormous tails; goats, and wild boar, too, are numerous. The sloth exists here, and I have made many a good meal on a species of bat, of which there are plenty and very good. Hedgehogs, too, and locusts are a usual dish.”