Yr Ynys Unyg; or, The lonely island

by Julia de Winton

But their sweet voices, and comforting words were lost amidst the wailing and weeping that arose on all sides, now that we had given voice to our sad fears. Words fail me when I think of describing this mournful and affecting scene, for one and all seemed equally certain that hope was gone, we had now been three months here, and the captain told us all, not once, but many times, that in six weeks for certain he should return. Something therefore must have happened. Either the vessel must have foundered, or they had failed in getting another vessel for us, or they had met with some accident, or worse than all from the instruments being destroyed on deck during the storm Captain MacNab had not been able to take any observations so as to settle whereabouts this island was, and he was perhaps now sailing about unable to find us. For it was a most singular thing which we had several times noticed, that during the whole time we had been there we had never seen a vessel on the horizon. That was a mournful evening, so sad and painful that I am sure none of those who participated in it could forget it as long as life lasted. And in the midst of the fears that assailed us regarding our future lot, many were the sorrowful thoughts we had as to what could have become of the kind good Captain, the faithful and attached Smart, and all those worthy companions, so lately forming a part of ourselves. Darkness had long wrapped the little island in her dull mantle, but sobs were heard in different parts of the little cavern in which we had all been obliged to congregate for the night, and gentle whispers of prayer to the giver of all good rose now and then in the stillness of the night, shewing that some hearts felt too deeply to sleep; the overwrought minds sought comfort from the bountiful fountain of love and compassion, that increaseth as it is poured forth. And full well can we say, our trust hath not been in vain, deeply as we suffered then and since. But on looking back to that time, and all the subsequent trials that have befallen us, I think this period was the most painful we ever endured. Not only were we in miserable uncertainty about ourselves, but we lost and bewildered ourselves in painful conjectures as as to what could have become of our companions.

To have been told that they were really destroyed, that we should never see them more, that we must depend upon ourselves for every thing, and upon chance that we might be taken from the island, would I think have been less painful to bear than the state in which we found ourselves. At any rate then we should have known what to do, and would in all probability have exerted ourselves to better our condition as best we could.

But at present we were like people suddenly left in the dark, with the additional feeling of not knowing when it would be light again, or what we could do to free ourselves. Say that we were to sit still, and wait with patience, hoping the best, believing it impossible that we could be alone and deserted, this could not last, we could not sit still for ever. Say that we immediately made up our minds to the worst; that we were alone, and to be so for an indefinite, perhaps final period; that we must shift for ourselves; that our welfare, peace, comfort, food, clothing, solely depended on our own exertions; then, perhaps, after making these exertions, after using every effort, and they would be no slight ones, but must commence immediately with great toil, and anxious thought, they would arrive, we should be saved, and thus have undergone unnecessary labour and fatigue for nothing.

Yet we were at present fitted for neither of these fates. The life of ease and enjoyment without care or thought, that we had indulged in for two months; the indolent habits we had contracted from the, to us, unusual hot climate; the strangeness and suddenness of our fate, all combined to unnerve us, and for the present overwhelm the energy and strength of character necessary for such emergency.

That was a memorable night, calm and serene, as it was after the great storm of the preceding one. Troubled and tempest-tost was each heart as it awakened scared by its own dreams, through which ran wild visions of the beloved faces, perhaps never more to be seen. Yearnings after the homes we had so thoughtlessly left, the scenes we might never more behold, the voices perchance we should never hear again. Every thing we loved and valued and had left! seemed on this memorable night to come vividly before us. Was it therefore to be wondered that with subdued and chastened feelings we all met the next day, the elder ones steeling their hearts, and recovering their minds to enter into a regular discussion and investigation of the fate destined for them; the younger ones meek and sorrowful but most loving and engaging in their simple reliance on our words, and their quiet, but watchful anticipations of our looks and wishes, and this day happened to be a Sunday.

We generally performed the church service on an elevated, but small platform above the dining place, looking down upon the great chestnut tree, and indeed upon all our possessions. Thus endeavouring to realize the scenes so often seen in England, where the pretty simple church, with its graceful spire, is seen on an elevated place, while the humble cottages, and rose-covered houses clustered round its base.

To make the resemblance more perfect, one single large cocoa-nut tree, with its tall stem and fan-like head, was the only tree growing near the spot, and the children were wont to call this tree when its solitary condition caught their eye, the church spire.

The cliff shelved over some feet, making a natural shade and cover, and here we placed the proper seats, two only being at the foot of the tree whose occupants read and responded to the church service.

Sometimes a sermon was read after the prayers, but more often it was my habit to give each of the young ones a text from the Holy Bible, and from that they made small sermons, or rather remarks of their own which were meant only for the Mother's eye, and sacredly respected by her in that particular.

On this Sunday, the prayers being over, the psalm sung, they waited a short space for me to give them their texts as usual, but seeing how sorrowful and weak I was, and so slow in finding them out, they asked to choose their own texts for this time, which I willingly granted.