win and Cuffy | Page 5

the richly-wooded
island.
For it must be remembered that our castaway had not landed on the
island itself, but on that narrow ring of coral-reef which almost

encircled it, and from which it was separated by the lagoon, or enclosed
portion of the sea, which was, as we have said, about a quarter of a mile
wide.
John Jarwin would have thought little of swimming over that narrow
belt of smooth water in ordinary circumstances, but now he felt that his
strength was not equal to such a feat. Moreover, he knew that there
were sharks in these waters, so he dismissed the idea of swimming, and
cast about in his mind how he should manage to get across. With
Jarwin, action soon followed thought. He resolved to form a small raft
out of portions of the large one. Fortunately his clasp-knife had been
attached, as seamen frequently have it, to his waist-belt, when he
forsook his ship. This was the only implement that he possessed, but it
was invaluable. With it he managed to cut the thick ropes that he could
not have untied, and, in the course of two hours--for he laboured with
extreme difficulty--a few broken planks and spars were lashed together.
Embarking on this frail vessel with his dog, he pushed off, and using a
piece of plank for an oar, sculled himself over the lagoon.
It was touching, even to himself, to observe the slowness of his
progress. All the strength that remained in him was barely sufficient to
move the raft. But the lagoon was as still as a mill-pond. Looking down
into its clear depths, he could see the rich gardens of coral and
sea-weed, among which fish, of varied and brilliant colours, sported
many fathoms below. The air, too, was perfectly calm.
Very slowly he left the reef astern; the middle of the lagoon was gained;
then, gradually, he neared the island-shore, but oh! it was a long, weary
pull, although the space was so short, and, to add to the poor man's
misery, the fish which he had eaten caused him intolerable thirst. But
he reached the shore at last.
The first thing that greeted his eye as he landed was the sparkle of a
clear spring at the foot of some cocoanut-trees. He staggered eagerly
towards it, and fell down beside a hollow in the rock, like a large cup or
bowl, which had been scooped out by it.
Who shall presume to describe the feelings of that shipwrecked sailor

as he and his dog drank from the same cup at that sparkling crystal
fountain? Delicious odours of lime and citron trees, and well-nigh
forgotten herbage, filled his nostrils, and the twitter of birds thrilled his
ears, seeming to bid him welcome to the land, as he sank down on the
soft grass, and raised his eyes in thanksgiving to heaven. An irresistible
tendency to sleep then seized him.
"If there's a heaven upon earth, I'm in it now," he murmured, as he laid
down his head and closed his eyes.
Cuffy, nestling into his breast, placed his chin on his neck, and heaved
a deep, contented sigh. This was the last sound the sailor recognised, as
he sank into profound repose.
CHAPTER TWO.
ISLAND LIFE.
There are few of the minor sweets of life more agreeable than to awake
refreshed, and to become gradually impressed with the conviction that
you are a perfectly free agent,--that you may rise when you choose, or
lie still if you please, or do what you like, without let or hindrance.
So thought our hero, John Jarwin, when he awoke, on the same spot
where he had thrown himself down, after several hours of life-giving
slumber. He was still weak, but his weakness did not now oppress him.
The slight meal, the long draught, and the deep sleep, had restored
enough of vigour to his naturally robust frame to enable him, while
lying on his back, to enjoy his existence once more. He was, on first
awaking, in that happy condition of mind and body in which the former
does not care to think and the latter does not wish to move--yet both are
pleased to be largely conscious of their own identity.
That he had not moved an inch since he lay down, became somewhat
apparent to Jarwin from the fact that Cuffy's chin still rested
immovable on his neck, but his mind was too indolent to pursue the
thought. He had not the most remote idea as to where he was, but he
cared nothing for that. He was in absolute ignorance of the time of day,

but he cared, if possible, still less for that. Food, he knew, was
necessary to his existence, but the thought gave him no anxiety. In
short, John and