I suggested that we should make a cradle from the wreck of the boat which had tempted Croil to try to reach the beach.
Sandy had some small line in his pocket; I also had another piece, and Dick Black—the man who had come to our assistance—had brought a whole coil, which he threw down to us. We soon formed a cradle, in which we placed the lad, securing it to the end of the rope. We had, besides this, lines sufficient to enable me to stand below and assist to guide it in its ascent. Sandy then swarmed up to the top, and he and our two companions began to hoist away while I guided the cradle from below. I was thankful to see Croil at length safely placed on the top of the cliff. The rope was then let down, and making a bow-line in which I could sit, I shouted to the rest to haul away. I felt rather uncomfortable as I found myself dangling in mid-air, for fear the rope should get cut by the rocks, but I reached the top without accident. I was thankful to find that Croil had come to himself, though unable to describe how he had fallen.
“We must mark this spot, to come back for that wood; it will be a perfect god-send to us, for we shall want every scrap of fuel we can find,” I observed.
The cradle enabled us to carry Croil without difficulty to the cave, where my brother at once attended to him.
Wonderful as it seemed, not a bone in his body was broken, nor had his spine received any injury, which Andrew at first thought might be the case. He thus hoped that the lad might get round and in a short time be as well as ever. He was far more anxious about the mate, who still remained in a precarious condition.
Supper over and a watch being set, we all lay down inside the cave, with our feet to the fire which blazed in front of it. And thus passed the third night of our residence on the island.