After my dear wife had subdued the agitation this remembrance caused her, I pursued the conversation as follows:—
CHAPTER XXXVI.
“I see, my dear wife,” said I, “that you, as well as the rest of my family, are contented to remain on this island, where it seems it is the will of God for us to dwell, as it is improbable that in such a tempest Captain Johnson would risk approaching the island, if indeed it has not been already fatal to him. I am impatient to learn if Fritz has any tidings of him; for it was on the shore near Tent House that he and Jack passed the night.”
“Well done, my good and courageous boys!” said their mother; “they might at any rate have given assistance to them if wrecked.”
“You are more courageous than I am, my dear Elizabeth,” answered I; “I have passed the whole night mourning for my children, and you think only of the good they might have done to their fellow-creatures.”
My sons were awake by this time, and I eagerly inquired if they had discovered any traces of the vessel. Fritz said they had not; but he feared it would never be able to resist the fury of the tempest.
“No, indeed,” said Jack; “those mountains of waves, which were not fixtures like other mountains, came full gallop to swallow up Fritz the great, Jack the little, and their fine canoe.”
My wife nearly fainted when she heard they had ventured on that terrible sea; and I reminded Fritz that I had forbidden him to do this.
“But you have often said to me, papa,” said he, “do unto others as you would they should do unto you; and what a happiness it would have been to us, when our vessel was wrecked, if we had seen a canoe!”