Ugly volunteers—Our Fresh Tute to the Rescue!
“Poor old Robinson Crusoe! poor old Robinson Crusoe!
They made him a coat of an old nanny-goat:
I wonder how they could do so!
With a ring a ting tang, and a ring a ting tang,
Poor old Robinson Crusoe.” Mother Goose.
The storm broke before morning, and a clear fresh September day opened on us castaways. There was no exertion of ours that could get us home, for our little cutter was a complete wreck, and we had but one of the many requisites for constructing a boat or raft—it consisted of the few planks and timbers of the wreck of the boat which still held together or had been washed upon the beach, and which, if we were not rescued before another morning, must be employed in feeding our fire. All the provisions we had taken with us on our day’s voyage were consumed, except one loaf of bread and two pies, but a sufficient supply of the fish had been brought from the cutter to feed us for several meals. Of water—the greatest necessity—there was not a drop on Boatswain’s Half-Acre. During the morning, the want of that became a pain, and before night any one of us would have given all he possessed for a single glass of cold water. Captain Mugford told us that now, for the fourth time in his life, he knew the suffering of thirst.
We must wait to be discovered, to be rescued, and before that we might die of thirst, for our island was only a low rock, and vessels going up and down channel kept generally too far from the reef to allow us to be seen by them on board. We could see our cape, and even the old house, but had no way of making signals, except by the fire at night.
Beautiful as was the day, it was one only of pain and anxiety to us. Of the few sails we saw, not one came within three miles of us. Where could Mr Clare be all this time?
The sea fell so fast that by two o’clock in the afternoon it was smooth as a lake. Harry Higginson and I sat looking at it on a point of the reef, with Ugly by our side. Ugly’s tongue hung dry from his mouth, and he panted for a drop of water, but he was pained, too, I am sure, because of our silence and dejection. Watching our faces, as if wondering what he could do for us, he at length walked down to the waterline and looked across to the cape with a long whine. Then he ran back and put his paws on Harry’s knee, as if he would have him say something. So Harry patted his head and said, “Yes, old boy, I wish we could get there.”
He sprang down again and commenced to bark, pointing his nose towards the cape.
I called to him, “Don’t be a fool, Ugly; your little bark can’t reach them.”
He cried and ran back to Harry, but in a second more, barking like fury, he ran to the water and swam off in the direction of our home.
We called to him again and again, entreating and commanding his return; but he paid no attention to us, and swam on. We were filled with sorrow and alarm, for surely little Ugly could not swim that distance—over three miles. We called to the Captain and the boys, and in a few minutes we were all standing watching the progress of brave Ugly.