“The Good Hope—the Good Hope,” said Uncle Paul, repeating the name several times. “I like it. Yes, yes; it is a fitting name—a good name. Our craft has been the result of faith in One who watches over us—of skill and energy and perseverance; and such must always afford ‘good hope’ of success. What do you say, brother Dennis?”
“I have felt too often that I have bidden farewell to ‘hope’ in any form to venture on selecting such a name; and yet, if you are pleased so to call our craft, I should be content to embark on board the Good Hope; and should she carry us to civilised lands in safety, I might believe once more that there is hope for me, even in this world,” answered my father.
I had been inclined to agree with Arthur; but as the elders of the party seemed to consider that the name of Good Hope was the proper one, I voted for it, and Marian did likewise. Thus it was settled that our vessel was to be called the Good Hope; and so we ever afterwards designated her.
As she approached completion, the hunters were urged to be diligent in endeavouring to procure the means of provisioning her for the voyage. We at once built two kilns for drying fish and flesh, to assist the preserving powers of the hot sun. Several large periecus were caught, cut up, and dried in the sun, and then smoked; but though wholesome and nutritious, they were not considered very palatable. As fruits and nuts became ripe they were gathered in large quantities, and Marian exerted her skill in drying the former.
“If I had some sugar, I would make a supply of preserves,” she observed, as she examined a basket of palm-fruit, and several varieties of plums, which we had brought in. “I often assisted at home, and know perfectly well how to manage.”
I remembered one day having seen some long canes, which I took for ordinary reeds, growing among the abundant vegetation. I now tried to recollect whereabouts they were.
“I know,” exclaimed Sambo. “They be wild sugar-cane.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Because I suck ’em, and dey berry sweet,” he answered, grinning as only a well-satisfied negro can grin, having, of all the human race, a mouth specially adapted for the purpose.
“Then do you think you could find them again, Sambo?” I asked.