“True for you, sorr,” replied Mr McCarthy, stretching out his brawny fist; “and there’s my hand on it to say I’ll attind to your orders, if it’s to holystone the face of that ould cliff there.”
“All right, my friend!” said Mr Meldrum, shaking the hand outstretched cordially. “I see we understand each other; and, believe me, I’ll not be a hard taskmaster.”
“I’m certain of that, sir,” responded Mr Adams; and the trio then parted company to carry these arrangements into effect, the first result of which was that everybody looked more cheerful than they had been since the completion of the house, after finishing which some dulness and lassitude had been observable in the men, coupled with a tendency to idle about and mope.
This soon disappeared now when the first mate and Mr Adams, in pursuance of Mr Meldrum’s directions, made them bustle about here and there.
They did all sorts of jobs. They scraped the jolly-boat’s planking, and pitched her inside and out; after which they collected all the stray blocks of basalt they could find and built a “shebeen,” as Mr McCarthy called it, to contain her, and then housed it and her over with all the spare planks they could get hold of—marching miles along the black sandy beach for the purpose of seeing what stray timber might be stranded. In addition to this work achieved, they rigged up a flagstaff on the head of the cliff and used to signal from thence at stated hours of the day. In fact, they were employed in doing everything that could be thought of to give employment to their minds and bodies, McCarthy and Adams finding them fresh jobs continually.
Amongst all these various tasks, however, the very needful one of replenishing their gradually diminishing larder was not forgotten.
“We’ve got some green-stuff,” said Mr Lathrope—whom the question of eating, or rather what to get to eat, seemed more materially to affect than anyone else—“and I ain’t a-going to gainsay but what it’s fust-rate green-stuff of the sort, and right down prime filling stuff too; but, mister, we ain’t all ben brought up to live on sauerkraut, like them German immigrants as I’ve seed land at Castle Garden, New York. I, fur one, likes a bit o’ somethin’ more substantial, that a feller can chew. ’Spose we goes a-huntin’, hey?”
“Very good,” replied Mr Meldrum to this exordium; “but what shall we hunt!”
“Anything you durned please, siree,” said the other. “There’s seals and them penguins besides lots of cormorants and sichlike.”
“Well, I don’t think the seals will want much hunting or shooting,” said Mr Meldrum; “for, if we come across any, a stroke over the nose with a stick will settle them, and the same can be said of the penguins—although I don’t want them to be disturbed yet, as it will soon be their breeding season and I hope to get a lot of eggs from the little colony adjacent to us. As for the cormorants, if you complained about the former birds having a fishy taste, you’ll find these fishier still. However, to relieve your mind, I believe that there are a number of wild rabbits on the island, so we’ll try to shoot some of those.”