In the Eastern Seas

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Let us rather say that God is merciful,” said Oliver, though in so low a voice that it seemed scarcely as if he intended me to hear him.

“You are right,” I answered; “I do feel grateful.” Some bamboos grew a short way off, and Macco, running to them, soon cut several pieces, leaving the knots at the ends to serve as bottoms; we thus in a few minutes were each supplied with a serviceable cup. By this time the thick mud had settled down, though the water was far from limpid. We each of us eagerly took a draught to quench our thirst. Thus, then, we were supplied with the first necessary of life. By this time we had all become very hungry; though we felt sure we could manufacture some sago out of the sago-palms, yet it would be a work of time. Our chief hope of obtaining food immediately was on the sea-shore—we might at all events find shell-fish. Macco told us he was sure he could manufacture some fishing-lines and hooks; the latter out of the bones of birds, and the lines from some of the numerous creepers with which the island abounded. While this was being done, however, we should be starved; we therefore made the best of our way round through the path we had already made to the shore. I had often thought the matter over, and I was sure that many persons had lost their lives from not immediately setting to work to try and find the means of subsistence. I had read of two parties being cast away on the same island at a short distance from each other: the one perishing; the other, from their energy and perseverance, existing for many months, and ultimately escaping.

Oliver needed no urging, and Macco especially seemed ready to exert his faculties in obtaining food. We looked along the beach, but the water was up, and no shells with live creatures in them could we find. There was no lack of empty shells, however, some of them of great size and beauty, such as would fetch a high price in England.

“They are of very little use to us,” I observed.

Macco heard me. “Not so sure of dat, Massa Walter,” he said, for I should remark that, having learned his English from Potto Jumbo, he spoke very much in his way. “Here dis big shell make good cook-pot; here clean out dis, make good cup; here plates, and here dis make good spoon,” and he picked up shells of different shapes.

“I wish, however, we could find something to put into them and cook,” I could not help saying.

Soon after, we had reached the beach where we had landed. We found the sand soft and fine. Macco looked about, and then exclaimed, “Ha, ha! here’s somet’ing;” and he began digging away with the bamboo spade. In a short time he produced a couple of turtle’s eggs: we hunted, and soon found several more. “Dese do till tide go down and we find shell-fish,” he observed.

Though very hungry, I had no fancy for eating turtle’s eggs raw. “We must try and find the means of lighting a fire,” I observed. “Do you think, Macco, you could produce a flame with two pieces of wood, as is done in some countries?”

“Not so sure,” he answered; “but if we had flint, I soon find pith to set on fire.”

From the character of the island, which appeared to be entirely volcanic, I had no hope of finding flints. Just then it flashed across me that a few days before I had been using a glass from my telescope as a burning-glass, and I recollected putting it in my pocket on being called off suddenly to attend to some duty; I had little hope, however, of finding it unbroken. I put my hands into my trowsers pockets, and then into my jacket pockets, but it was not there; neither was it in my waistcoat pockets, but there was a hole in one of them, and after feeling about, I found it had worked its way round into the corner of the waistcoat by my side. It had thus escaped being broken, or discovered by the Malays when they took away our money. I produced it with great satisfaction. Macco ran off immediately, and came back with some dried pith and a bundle of sticks. We soon produced a flame and had a fire burning. Macco then made a collection of round stones, which he put on the fire, at the same time filling one of the shells with water. “Too much water,” he observed, turning some of it out. He then transferred the hot stones to the water, which began bubbling and hissing as if it were boiling. “Put in the eggs,” he observed; “soon boil dem.” We followed his advice, and in four or five minutes the eggs were boiled thoroughly, quite as well as if they had been put into a pot on the fire. We had now no danger of starving, for the present at all events; and indeed, if we could manufacture the sago, we might supply ourselves with food sufficient to last for any length of time.