the more southern groups to provide a meal without other labor than plucking. There were fine groves of the different species of food-bearing palms—orchards of bread-fruit and other kinds of trees, from which man could derive both sustenance and material to clothe and house him; but for these purposes and the culture of the taro plant, which was his main resource, no little labor and skill were necessary.
Metals were unknown. The animal and feathered creature were scanty in species and numbers, and much of the island surface was still a wilderness of basaltic rock or fields of lava and cinders. But such was the salubrity of the climate and the activity of nature, that its resources for the comfort, and to a considerable degree of the civilization of man, were making rapid development; not sufficient as yet to release him from the active exercise of his faculties, and thus induce a sensual repose, but just enough to reward him for exertion, while indolence was sure to beget actual want.
The little caravel with her famished and sickly crew that we left in the midst of the North Pacific, rolling before a fresh breeze from the northeast, which proved to be the regular trade-wind, had continued her course for several days in the same direction. During this time, several others of the ship’s company had died and been cast overboard. Frequent showers, and the occasional catching of flying-fish, and now and then a dolphin or porpoise, did somewhat to restore the physical energies of the survivors, while the balmy condition of the air, the exhilaration of rapid motion, and the prospect of novel adventure, had much weight in raising the spirits of all.
Still there were no indications of land. The sun had set for the tenth time behind the same purple canopy of clouds; the same birds screamed and flew overhead; the waves rose and toppled after them with gushing foam, just so high and no higher; the sails bellied out with monotonous fulness; not a rope was stirred nor oar moved; on, on, rolled the caravel, now dipping this bulwark, now that, surging aside the water and trailing it in her wake with the noise of a mill-course; no variety, except that the north-star sank lower each night, until the very evenness of their way, hour answering to hour and day to day, began to beget in them a feeling of doubt as to the actual existence of land in the direction they were heading. This, combined with the weariness which inevitably steals over the senses when long at sea without change, led to greater carelessness in the night-watches. They fancied themselves borne onward by a fate which their own precautions could neither alter nor avert. Hence it was, that having worn out conjecture and argument as to their positive and probable destiny, they had on the tenth evening more than ordinarily abandoned themselves to chance. The day had been thicker than usual, and there was no light at night except the uncertain twinkling of stars through driving masses of clouds.
All except the helmsman slept. He dozed. Habit kept him sufficiently awake to keep the caravel to her course, but nothing more. Suddenly a dull, weighty sound was heard, like the roll of heavy waters, dying slowly away in the distance. Another; then another; quicker and quicker, each louder and nearer. The caravel was lifted high on one sea and fell heavily into the trough of another, rolling so uneasily as to start up all on board. At this moment the pilot, catching the gleam of a long line of breakers, hoarsely shouted “all hands, quick, or by the saints we are lost,” at the same moment putting the helm hard down to bring her into the wind. He was too late. The craft fell broadside into the rollers and became unmanageable. The mast snapped off close to the deck, and was pitched into the water to the leeward. At the same instant a grinding, crushing sound was heard underneath, as the caravel was lifted and thrown heavily upon the reef, breaking in the floor timbers and flooding her hold with water. It was too dark to distinguish anything but the white crest of the breakers all around, while their noise prevented any orders being distinctly heard. Indeed so sudden and complete was the disaster, that there was nothing to be done by the crew but to cling to the wreck and passively await their fate. Death came soon to a number, who were washed overboard and taken by the undertow seaward, where sharks fed upon them. Waves washed over the vessel in quick succession, gradually breaking her up. The after cabin held together longest, affording some shelter to its occupants. In a little while, however, even this was gone. All left on board were floated off, they knew not whither, clinging to whatever they could grasp, and rolled over in the surf until most of them became insensible. Beatriz, however, retained her presence of mind, and aided by the almost superhuman efforts of Tolta, a Mexican captive, was finally cast upon a soft beach, without other injury than a few skin bruises and the swallowing of a little water, of which she was soon relieved. It was too dark to learn the fate of the others. Dragging themselves beyond the wash of the breakers, in anxious suspense they awaited daybreak to disclose more fully their situation.
CHAPTER IV.
“Obedient to the light
That shone within his soul, he went, pursuing
The windings of the dell. The rivulet,
Wanton and wild, through many a green ravine
Beneath the forest flowed.”
Shelley.
Within the tropics the sun lights up the earth or leaves it, with scarcely any of the mysterious greeting or farewell, with which in more northern climates he loiters on his way, dyeing the landscape with subtle gradations of colors, from the fullest display of his mingled glories in a yellow and purple blaze, to the faintest hues of every shade, delicate and aerial, like the gossamer robes of spirit land. His coming is punctual and his welcome hearty. Objects take their hue and shape from out of the night almost instantaneously, changing from black to golden brightness, as by the touch of magic. There is loss of beauty to the eye in this, though the earth may gain in fertility from not having to wait so long for the fruitful warmth.
It was well nigh morning when the caravel broke up in the reef. The air was warm, and although the surf roared as loudly as ever, the wind had gone down. Soon the sun began to appear above the horizon. Beatriz, availing herself of its earliest light, began to search for her brother and his company. Tolta was active also. Bits of the wreck strewed the beach, with here and there articles that might still be of service, but she paid no attention to them. Hurriedly looking about her, hoping yet fearful, she espied a body half-buried in the sand. In an instant she was beside it, but it was one of the crew, stiff and cold. There was no time to spare for a corpse, so she continued her search for the living. An object half hidden amid low shrubbery caught her eye. Hastening thither, she saw the well known white robe of Olmedo. With a cry of joy she rushed to it, and then breathlessly knelt at his side, placing her hand upon Olmedo’s heart and her mouth close to his, to detect any signs of life. He was warm and breathing. His eyes slowly opened, and recognizing Beatriz, for a moment he seemed to have forgotten the wreck, and to imagine himself still at sea. As he stretched out his hand with a smile, to give her his wonted welcome, she seized it passionately, kissed it and burst into tears.
The good father, surprised at this feeling in one usually so calm, yet carried away by it without knowing why, pressed her hand warmly in return, while a tear found its way also to his eye. Instantly recovering her usual manner, Beatriz asked if he could give her tidings of Juan.
The question recalled to Olmedo the disaster of the night. He had himself been thrown ashore, on top of a plank to which he had clung at the breaking up of the caravel, and had scrambled up the beach, until he reached the bushes, where he had been found half gone in faintness and sleep.
At the name of Juan he started to his feet and said, “Let us lose no time in looking for him. The wreck was so sudden that human efforts could not have availed to save any one. God may have brought him safely to shore as he has us.”
They had not gone far before a well known voice was heard calling loudly upon Beatriz. In an instant, she was clasped in the embrace of her brother. He had rushed from a neighboring grove, as he caught sight of his sister, and now the two in their sudden joy clung to each other with mingled sobs and laughter; for being twins their active affections had been formed together in one maternal mould.
Juan led the party to the spot from which he had emerged, where they found three of the seamen. It seems that Juan had reached the land, somewhat