CHAPTER II.
I woke up about five o’clock the next morning. It was a beautiful day. The wind had all died down, and the sea where the wreck was lying was as smooth as New York Bay. We were stranded close to the shore of a lovely island, and in the opposite direction I could see the surf breaking on a reef that seemed to surround the island about a mile from the shore, everywhere except towards the south, where there was an opening about half a mile broad. The island seemed to be covered with trees that grew close down to the shore, and at the northerly end there was a high hill that was shaped like a sugar-loaf. I could not see any signs that the island was inhabited, and the wreck lay so close to the beach that I could have swum ashore without the least trouble.
I let Mr. Crusoe sleep while I split some dry wood from the door of the captain’s room and started a fire in the galley. I found coffee, and pilot-bread, and a lot of cold roast lamb in the steward’s pantry, and when I woke up Mr. Crusoe, I told him that the best breakfast he ever heard of was ready for us in the cabin. We had china plates to eat off of, and a mahogany table and arm-chairs, and I found a newspaper and put it by Mr. Crusoe’s plate, so that he could read the news at breakfast, as rich people on shore always do.
Mr. Crusoe braced up after breakfast, and found that he could walk pretty well. He was in first-rate spirits, and said the island was the very one where his grandfather lived. “He landed,” said Mr. Crusoe, “just about where we are now, and he had his house just by the side of that hill.”
“Then we can move right into his house and live there, can’t we?” said I.
“Of course we can,” Mr. Crusoe replied. “Only, you see, it must be awfully out of repair by this time. And then I think it very likely that Will Atkins and his gang burnt it before they left the island; for they must have left it or we would see some signs of them. I never did believe in that fellow’s reformation myself, although my dear grandfather did.”
“Well,” said I, “we’ll go ashore anyway and see. If you’ll help me, Mr. Crusoe, we’ll build a raft.”
“My grandfather built a raft, and we’ll do everything that he did. Only he didn’t have you to help him. I don’t know what to do about that,” he continued, looking puzzled—“I can’t drown you now, but you see yourself, Mike, that everybody ought to have been drowned except me.”
“You can drown me after we get ashore, if you like,” I said; “I don’t care much, I’m sure.” You see I felt a little aggravated that Mr. Crusoe should stand there and tell me I ought to have been drowned; but then I didn’t begin to know at that time how aggravating he could be. But he was a good man for all that.