The familiar word came rolling to the shore, and a piercing shriek replied to it as the poor woman threw up both hands and fell backward into the ready arms of the coxswain’s wife, who had sprung to her side in anticipation of some such catastrophe.
There was the voice of prayer and thanksgiving that night in the hut on the lonely shore—such thanksgiving as we might conceive filled the hearts of Jairus and of the widow of Nain in the days of old.
Story 1 -- Chapter 12.
The state of things on the island was now considerably improved. Peggy, under the influence of gratitude for restored felicity, became more helpful than she had formerly been, and more loquacious than ever. Her female companions, being amiable and easily pleased, were rather amused than otherwise at the continuous flow of discursive, sometimes incomprehensible, and always good-natured small talk—particularly small talk—with which she beguiled the hours that might have otherwise hung heavily on their minds while their hands were busily engaged with the bone-needles and sinew threads which the coxswain had manufactured for them. For the clothes with which they had landed on the island—especially those of the men—had begun to wear out after eight or ten months, and new garments had to be made, while repairs never ceased.
Meanwhile, the men were fully occupied each day in hunting seals or fishing, cutting firewood with the axe they had found in the hut, and in making their home more comfortable. A door was fitted to the hut; a wooden partition was put up to cut off more effectually the women’s apartment from that of the men; the open crevices in the walls were stopped up with moss, and many other improvements were made. A few nails extracted from the walls of the hut were converted into fish-hooks, by means of the file which had been found, and Nellie spun some excellent fishing-lines from flax found growing wild in abundance. The file also enabled them to strike fire with broken flints picked up on the shore. The ash of burnt cotton, as the doctor knew, makes good tinder; so in the public interest, John Mitford agreed to part with the ragged remains of the cotton shirt he had long worn—quite unnecessarily—over his woollen jersey. Thus they could afford to let the fire go out, and were relieved from constant watching, as well as anxiety in regard to it.
They did not, however, cease their nocturnal vigils, for the hope of deliverance never died out, though it at last sank very low. Besides keeping their seal-skin flag flying, they kindled a beacon-fire every night, to guard and replenish which became the nightly duty of one or other of the men—watch and watch about—all the time they stayed on the island.
During the earlier part of each night, however, the beacon-fire was not watched. It was merely lighted and left for some hours to look after itself. During this period, after supper, the whole party were wont to draw round the blazing fire in the hut, and each contributed his or her share to the entertainment of the social circle. Then it was that lugubrious John Mitford developed amazing powers of inventive story-telling, and Joe Slag came out strong with thrilling lifeboat tales, every word of which Bob Massey corroborated, while Terrence O’Connor displayed powers of sarcastic criticism of the highest order, and Tomlin, Black Ned, and the women proved an intensely appreciative audience. But the latter were not merely listeners. True, Peggy did nothing for the general good. Having quite exhausted her lungs with incessant talk during each day, she was fortunately almost incapable of speech in the evening, but Nellie, who possessed a voice as sweet as herself, and clear and true as that of a nightingale, was induced to “favour the company”—chiefly with pathetic or patriotic ditties and hymns—while Eva thrilled her audience with terrible tales of slavery, in many of which she had acted a part. Of course Dr Hayward lent his aid, both with song and story; but, like a true leader, he devoted himself chiefly to drawing out the powers of his companions, directing or diverting the flow of conversation, and keeping order. He also instituted what may be truly styled family worship at night, by repeating from memory portions of the word of God and engaging in prayer just before retiring to rest. Bob Massey and Tomlin were induced to help him in this, and never was a prayer put up from that hut in which there was not an earnest petition that a ship might be sent for their deliverance.
“But a ship is long, long o’ comin’,” said Slag to Jarring as he accompanied the latter part of the way to the beacon-fire one night when it was Black Ned’s turn to watch.