THE next morning, when shortly after dawn I awoke from a sound, refreshing sleep, my clothes were dried upon me, the storm had passed, and there was promise of a calm, clear day. Raking together the few coals that remained, I soon had my fire burning brightly, and then went down to look at the two boats lying in the creek. The stranger I found had the name “Alice” painted on either bow. The “Alice” proved upon closer examination a much larger boat than the “Mohawk.” She was fully four feet longer, and much broader and deeper. A flush deck extended aft from the bows about one third of her whole length, and as in my own boat, was carried clear aft at each side of a well which was protected by an upright washboard. She was provided with an iron centre-board, hinged at the forward end on a pivot. A very considerable rise or sheer fore and aft indicated that she would be pretty safe in heavy weather and high seas. There was a good boat’s-compass swung in gimballs, and mounted near the after part of the well, where it would be in sight of the steersman, and an extinguished lantern lying near it, as though to be used when needed, for a binnacle light. The boat was very strongly built, and evidently intended as a sea-going craft. An oiled tarpaulin, buttoned over pins on the washboard, partly covered the well-hole forward, and evidently could be drawn over the whole opening in case of heavy seas.

Of course I was much interested in the examination of the boat, and in the minutest detail of her construction and condition, as I expected when I came to leave the island to use her instead of my own boat, an exchange of vessels greatly to my advantage. On the deck just forward of the foremast a water cask had been lashed. The two hollowed skids nailed to the deck were still there in place. There was a ringbolt let into the deck at each side originally, designed to take the cask lashings. One of these ringbolts was pulled through the deck and the water cask was gone. This condition told the story almost as plainly as words. A heavy sea had struck the port bow and coming on board had washed away the cask, tearing out the bolt. The tarpaulin had saved the vessel from filling.

I looked to the mooring-lines to see that both boats were secure, and then waded over the creek to a place above the willows, where there was a clear, bright-bottomed pool, sheltered from view and well adapted for the fresh-water bath which I needed. Here, too, was a gourd of soap, placed there on former occasions for the bath.

I was in the very midst of the soap-and-water refreshment when I saw on a log at the bank and among the leaves what I took for the head of a huge python or boa constrictor. A hideous head, thrust out toward me through the foliage, bright eyes gleaming like jewels, a wrinkled, pouchy throat,—the unmistakable reptilian characteristics,—caused a shiver of horror to pass through me for a moment. My first impulse was to fly and leave my clothing on the bank. Up to this time I had not seen a single snake, great or small, venomous or harmless, on the island. Backing and edging slowly away, I soon reached a point where I could plainly see that my terrible snake had feet, Ah! it was nothing more nor less than an iguana, a great, harmless species of lizard that loves to haunt the banks of the streams; not only harmless but edible, a delicate morsel for an epicure, hunted as zealously as the Marylanders seek for diamond-back terrapin.

Instantly from fancying myself the hunted I became the hunter. I had tasted iguana-stew at Martinique, and had a distinct recollection of the delicate white meat, with a flavor apparently compounded of those of spring chicken, green turtle, and frogs’ legs.

The reptile remained perfectly motionless, with the exception of a sort of regular waving of the folds of the pouched throat. I quietly lowered myself into the water and went a few rods down stream to the boats, where I got a strong cord and a stout ten-foot cane pole. I made a running noose in the cord and hung it upon the pole. With this apparatus I returned and found the lizard still pumping slowly away with his throat, in precisely the same place and attitude. Slowly and cautiously I waded up at one side, until I was distant the length of the pole, and then by infinite degrees advanced the noose, watching the pumping in the wrinkled throat, until the loop was fairly over the head, but of course without touching the reptile.

Just then the pumping action abruptly stopped. But I did not wait for him to be off. On the contrary, I hauled aft on my line like lightning, the noose closed around the ugly neck and jerked a fifty-pound iguana splashing into the creek. As I had no mind to feel his sharp claws, I drove the end of the pole into his mouth and thus between cord and pole held him firmly in the water. He swam like a fish, but he was too securely caught to get away. I dragged him up to the bank where my clothing lay, and getting hold of my knife dispatched him; then I hurriedly clothed myself and cleaned the iguana, taking off the skin and cutting him up ready for the pot. And in fifteen minutes a good portion of him was in my iron kettle and on the fire.

Though snaring big lizards is not perhaps within the strict limits of what may properly be called true sport, still I must say that for real excitement, eager earnestness of pursuit, and genuine pleasure at the capture, I have never experienced before nor since anything approaching the hunter’s joy excited by this morning’s pot hunt for an iguana.

As I stood by the fire the door of the house opened, and the girl came out. She had on some sort of light dress, and all trace of the bedraggled condition of the previous evening was gone; her brown hair was smoothly swept back from a face still pale, and a bit of bright ribbon at the neck gave the effect of a flower. She came down toward me with a kindly smile and a good-morning greeting, which I returned. Somehow a senseless, foolish embarrassment came over me, which like an idiot I attributed to the fact that I did not know her name. Actuated by a ridiculous impulse, I pulled out my pocketbook and extracted therefrom a stained and withered visiting-card, whereon in the most recherchÉ style of the copperplate engraver’s art appeared my name, “William Morgan.” This precious document I handed to her with a deliberate bow, hat in hand. A smile ran over her countenance as she bent to receive it, so very expressive that I could not fail to understand it. She was undoubtedly laughing at me. Like a flash the full absurdity and incongruity of my act came over me. I pictured my own appearance,—barefoot, clad in pantaloons of moleskin stained to a thousand tints of autumn brown and rolled up half-way to the knee, a blue flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up and throat open, and a hat of bungling rushes; my skin, where exposed, tanned and peeled; a great bush and shock of hair, the growth of nine months, tangled and unkempt, faded by the sun at the ends, and reaching down to my shoulders; the cavalier air; the limp, red-stained, dirty visiting card. I felt the hot blood surge for a moment into my face, and then the absurdity of it all overpowered me and I laughed aloud. She also, after a little struggle, and looking at me again to see, perhaps, whether I was hurt, joined in the chorus, my visiting-card in her hand.

“Mr. Morgan,” said she presently, “both my father and I are deeply grateful to you. You saved our lives, and your kindness and tenderness to a helpless old man I shall never forget. I thank you for him and for myself. My father’s name,” here there was a faint indication of a return of the smile, “is Caleb Millward, and mine is Alice.”

I asked her how her father had passed the night, and was informed that he had slept almost continuously, and was still slumbering peacefully. Then I told her that I thought her father was suffering from paralysis, produced, probably, by cerebral hemorrhage; that some small blood vessel had burst in the brain, and that if this could become absorbed in a reasonably short period he would probably recover the use of his faculties either wholly or partially; that we could only await results, keeping him warm, well nourished and quiet; that I believed this was all the best of doctors could do for him, and that we must put our trust in his good constitution and the favor of the Almighty, and hope for the best.

I learned from her account that her father, Caleb Millward, was a missionary, whose work for the past five years had been among the coolie laborers, of whom large numbers from Hindostan and the lower provinces of China had been imported into various of the West India Islands, under what has been known as the contract-labor system, only another name for slavery. Her mother had died several years before, during a yellow fever epidemic, and since her death the Rev. Mr. Millward had broken up his permanent home station, and had travelled in a regular circuit from point to point in his little schooner, making a complete round in a period of about six months. It was on one of these trips, while sailing from one small island to another, that the series of mishaps took place which resulted in their being cast away. There was on board only her father, herself, and a young Jamaican of English descent, who was employed to help sail the boat, and to take care of the vessel when in port. The voyage they were at the time engaged upon, was a traverse of about twenty miles. The wind was fair with no appearance of bad weather. Suddenly a tremendous wave was seen approaching, not parallel with the swell but at an angle thereto. All three saw it coming down. Her father called out to the Jamaican to lower some sail, and the Jamaican was forward at this work, when the sea struck the boat with tremendous force and dashed him overboard, and also tore loose the water cask and carried it away. The Jamaican never rose to the surface. Her father, she said, appeared to be wonderfully affected by the accident, and soon grew faint and half stupid. Presently partially recovering, he set the sails so that the boat was hove to under the sail that she subsequently bore, then almost immediately sank down unconscious. He remained thus all day breathing heavily, and then came to, but was unable to move. So they drifted without water, until the storm came and they were drenched with spray. After a long period of suffering they were rescued as we have seen. This was the story of their disaster. Leaving Miss Millward to watch the stew, I went up to the house, and finding the old man now awake gave him a thorough rubbing with my hands,—a sort of massage treatment,—until the circulation of the blood was evident on the surface. This seemed to do him good. Then I put on his clothes, now dry, and returned to the fire.

Miss Millward had gone down to the “Alice” and rummaged out some spoons and knives and forks, a small tablecloth, some salt and some black pepper, three bowls, three plates, and some glass tumblers, and had them at the fire in a hand basket, and the kettle containing the stew had been removed from the fire.

“Now, Mr. Morgan,” said she, as I came up, “Let us understand each other. I intend while we stay here to make myself useful. I have been taught to work, and the cooking and housekeeping are woman’s work. You will let me do that work as far as I am able, will you not?”

“Certainly I will, Miss Millward. There will be plenty of work for both of us. It will relieve me, and frankly, I think you will be better contented and happier for it.”

“Very well, then. Please give me a lift with this kettle to the house. Our breakfast is ready as soon as the cloth can be laid.”

That breakfast of delicious iguana-stew, toasted pilot-bread, and cool, pure water sparkling in glass, set on a clean, white cloth, and eaten from real dishes with the table implements of civilization, will linger long in my memory. I picture the scene before me even now; the cool white interior, the old man stretched on the couch, the table presenting to my long unaccustomed eyes an appearance of elegance, though plain and common enough in reality, the savory fragrance of the stew, the beautiful girl seated opposite me, the open doorway, and the glimpse through it of the sunlit sea,—all return to me as a happy, pleasant dream. It seemed to me then like a dream, and as though it all might fade away on awakening.

Heretofore I had eaten my food in a perfunctory fashion, spending no unnecessary time over it, with no special enjoyment except the satisfaction due to hunger allayed. Now all was different. Meals were about to become, I foresaw, delightful domestic episodes, enlivened by talk and rendered social by companionship. This was life, and not a mere struggle for existence.

We discussed the proposed changes to be made in the interior by cutting an enlarged opening through to the store-room, the hanging of a sail-cloth curtain, and the building of bunks. I explained how I was cast upon the island, and my experiences since then. But I did not mention the purpose of my voyage nor say anything about the wreck of the galleon.

When finally we had finished, and I had reluctantly risen, she said: “Mr. Morgan, I should like it very much if you would get me a broom.”

“Nothing will be easier, Miss Housekeeper,” replied I, and immediately brought in a cedar-bough. This she eyed ruefully, but accepted as the only available substitute for the familiar domestic weapon.

All that day I devoted to the work of clearing out the store-house, cutting the opening, rigging up the curtain, and building a bunk for myself in the new apartment. I did not build the second bunk, as I had intended, for a new plan had occurred to me; namely, to construct a movable couch for Mr. Millward to lie upon, and on which I could convey him on occasion out into the sun or on the porch, and upon which he might be propped up in a sitting posture. But before the day was over I had arranged some shelving at each side of the fireplace for Miss Millward’s dishes and domestic appliances. It was simply delightful to be called to a dinner that I had no hand in preparing, and to witness the air of homelike comfort given to the little house by this girl. The whole atmosphere seemed changed. Not that one could note any great or marked alteration; but in little details here and there, were evidences of a woman’s hand,—a bit of white cloth disposed over the windows as a curtain, my nautilus shell set on the mantel-shelf with a spray of flowers, and a hundred similar trifles; perhaps most of all, the unaccustomed presence of others, the sound of a woman’s voice, her light footstep, and the rustle of her garments. I did not attempt to analyze my feelings, but at any rate the place seemed like a home, and I began in advance to regret the day of leaving it.

That night I slept again at the shed. Before I retired, however, Miss Millward asked me to wait until she read a chapter in the Bible to her father. And when this was done she gently lifted the old man’s helpless hands together in an attitude of prayer, and then prayed aloud herself, in such a pathetic and tender manner that the tears came to my eyes in spite of myself.

The next day, after getting a stock of cedar, I started to fashion the couch for Mr. Millward. This with the making of another armchair occupied two days. The couch I made like a great chair, with a back pivoted to fold down or prop up, and wove an upholstery of rushes. It occurred to me that I could easily saw some wheels out of a round limb and mount them as rollers on which to move the couch more easily over the smooth floor; and this improvement I added. When the couch was finished there was then a bunk for each of the well ones and the couch for the invalid, and I therefore took up my quarters in the house, which I was glad to do, as I could then give Miss Millward a needed relief in helping watch the sick man at night. By wheeling his couch beside my own this was an easy matter.

In the morning we wheeled the old gentleman out upon the porch and propped him up for a rest, until he would sign with his eyes to be lowered again. I kept up the rubbing daily. At the end of about a week I noticed that he could move the fingers of his right hand. This was a most promising sign; and I then began to rub him regularly three times a day. In the course of two days more he could use this hand and arm quite freely, and recovered some power in the muscles of his neck so that he could turn his head. But though he could utter some unintelligible sounds he could not yet articulate anything. He kept making signs as though he wanted something, which I could not understand. I got out a pencil and some paper, which he took and attempted to write, but I could not read the characters. His daughter, however, coming out just then, was able to comprehend his wants at once, and going in to where his coat hung, brought out his spectacles and placed them on his eyes. The old man then wrote plainly the word “Bible,” and the book was brought to him. Propped up on his couch he turned the leaves and began to read with an air of perfect contentment. The distorted appearance of his face had gradually been passing away, and when his daughter gave him the book his countenance was lighted up with a singularly sweet smile.

In the present condition of the old man I felt that if he could have a little generous wine, as port or Madeira, to drink it would be a benefit to him. Some alcoholic stimulant in small amount was evidently what he needed. But such a thing could not be had. Why should I not make whiskey? I remembered that the negroes frequently made what they called palm wine from the juice of the cocoanut palm. And I had drunk both the sweetish, fresh preparation and the same in the sour, fermented stage, the latter being quite alcoholic in its nature. Moreover, I knew the whole process of obtaining this drink; for I had watched the negro boys climb the palms at Martinique, bind and cut the unopened flower spathes, and attach the small gourds or little earthen chatties to catch the juice as it trickled out.

Without explaining my purpose either to the old man or his daughter, I climbed six palms that evening, bound the flower spathes to prevent them from opening, tied them in a bent position, and cut off the point, attaching to each spathe a gourd to receive the liquid drippings. The next morning I collected from these trees nearly two gallons of sweet sap, and cutting each spathe to a fresh surface left them to flow again. When I brought the sap down it was already beginning to ferment, and had somewhat the taste of sweet cider with a slight sparkle. I put half a pint of it in a bottle, corked it tight, and tied the cork. Some of it I set in an open gourd in the shade; and about a gallon I set on the fire in a pan, intending to boil this latter portion down into syrup, or into “jaggery,” as the gummy, sweet preparation is called. In about three hours after collecting it that portion which was left in the open gourd had changed to such condition as to have a sharp, sub-acid taste, something like hock. I immediately drank a tumbler full of it, and found in a few minutes that it had indeed already developed sufficient alcohol to make that amount all that a person of sober habits would care to imbibe at one time. It was pleasant to the taste and very refreshing, and had a sparkle and a slight hum like new ale, when poured into the glass. I gave the old man a tumbler full, and also his daughter, and for company’s sake took an additional half-tumbler myself. It did him good, apparently, at least he seemed greatly to relish it, and held out his glass to be filled again.

“Why, this is like wine!” exclaimed Miss Millward, “where did you get it?”

“We have wine trees on our island, Miss Millward, and I have been tapping them, as you will see,” pointing to the suspended gourds, some of which could be seen from the porch where we sat in the shade. I then explained to her the whole process, and my purpose in making the wine. I showed her the pan of boiling sap, and she at once undertook to attend to the treacle-making. That evening at supper I opened the bottle which I had filled, and the cork flew out with a report like a pistol, the wine bubbling and frothing like champagne. This the invalid drank alone. The sap left in the open gourd turned quite sour, like vinegar; but I did not have any use for it in that condition and so poured it out. The result of the boiling was about a pint of thick, dark-colored sweet syrup, or treacle, of a rather pleasant taste. By carrying the boiling still farther it could of course be reduced to the condition of the sugar called jaggery. But it was more convenient for use in its treacly state.

The unusual and remarkable rapidity of the fermentative change in this palm-sap had the attendant inconvenience that it would require to be gathered fresh every day, if used for wine. I therefore concluded that I would make a still and distil a brandy from the fermented sap, which I could subsequently use as a check to the fermentation in the wine, after the manner that port-wine, sherry, Madeira, and other similar wines are prepared. I took a large earthen jar which would hold three or four gallons, and luted to the mouth of it with clay a gourd cut with an opening to correspond with the jar mouth. I then procured a long, straight cane about three inches in diameter at the butt, tapering in a length of twenty feet to less than an inch. I split this cane throughout the whole length and cut away the septum or partition which occurs at each joint. I then joined the two split halves together, pitched the joint, and wound the whole length with cord to hold it solid, and afterwards wound over all a grass rope of rather loose texture. In the neck of the gourd I inserted the butt of this cane tube and luted the joint with clay, but so that it could be removed. The cane tube led away in a nearly horizontal direction, having a slight fall from the gourd outward.

I now collected palm-sap enough to fill the jar, and when it had undergone a full fermentation, and just before it turned sour, I set it on in the still to boil over a fire. The gourd and tube were in place and the joints well luted. Then as soon as the fermented sap began to boil and throw off vapor, I wet the grass rope that surrounded the tube, and set a vessel to receive what came dripping from the end of the tube in drops. Very soon the brandy began to come over in a warm, thin, trickling stream. When I had collected a little over a quart I stopped the process for fear of getting some other product over. It was good, strong brandy, and had no disagreeable flavor, being quite clear, with a slight yellow tint.

I had now what I needed for my wine-making, and made use of it in the following manner: I collected a fresh supply of the sap and permitted fermentation to proceed in it until it was, as I thought, at the precise point where it had the best sub-acid flavor. I then added some of the palm syrup to sweeten it a little, and also enough of the brandy—about half a pint to the gallon—to stop the further fermentation. The wine so prepared had a rough resemblance to port. It was quite pleasant to the taste, and would keep any length of time. Having now a supply of about two gallons I made no more, as there was enough for the invalid, and nobody else needed it, or cared particularly for it.