It took some time to recruit our strength after this long and fatiguing expedition, and then we vigorously resumed the task of finishing the canoe. The arrangements, I flattered myself, were carried out in a manner quite worthy of a shipbuilder. A mast, sails, and paddles were fitted, but my final touch, although I prized it highly and considered it a grand and original idea, would no doubt have excited only ridicule and contempt had it been seen by a naval man. My contrivance was this: I had a couple of large airtight bags made of the skins of the dogfish, well tarred and pitched, inflated, and made fast on each side of the boat, just above the level of the water. These floats, however much she might be loaded, would effectually prevent either the sinking or the capsizing of my craft.
I may as well relate in this place what I omitted at the time of its occurrence. During the rainy season our cow presented us with a bull calf, and that there might never be any difficulty in managing him, I at a very early age pierced his nose and placed a short stick in it, to be exchanged for a ring when he was old enough. The question now came to be, who should be his master, and to what should we train him?
Ernest thought it would be more amusing to train his monkey than a calf. Jack, with the buffalo and his hunting jackal, had quite enough on his hands. Fritz was content with the onager. Their mother was voted mistress of Grizzle, the old donkey. And I myself being superintendent-in-chief of the whole establishment of animals, there remained only little Franz to whose special care the calf could be committed.
“What say you, my boy, will you undertake to look after this little fellow?”
“Oh, yes, father!” he replied. “Once you told me about a strong man, I think his name was Milo, and he had a tiny calf, and he used to carry it about everywhere. It grew bigger and bigger, but still he carried it often, till at last he grew so strong that when it was quite a great big ox, he could lift it as easily as ever. And so, you see, if I take care of our wee calf and teach it to do what I like, perhaps when it grows big I shall still be able to manage it, and then—oh, papa—do you think I might ride upon it?”
I smiled at the child’s simplicity, and his funny application of the story of Milo of Cortona.
“The calf shall be yours, my boy. Make him as tame as you can, and we will see about letting you mount him someday. But remember, he will be a great bull long before you are nearly a man. Now, what will you call him?”
“Shall I call him Grumble, father? Hear what a low muttering noise he makes!”
“Grumble will do famously.”
“Grumble, Grumble. Oh, it beats your buffalo’s name hollow, Jack!”
“Not a bit,” said he. “Why, you can’t compare the two names. Fancy mother saying, ‘Here comes Franz on Grumble, but Jack riding on the Storm.’ Oh, it sounds sublime!”
We named Juno’s two puppies Bruno and Fawn, and so ended this important domestic business.
For two months we worked steadily at our salt cave in order to complete the necessary arrangement of partition walls, so as to put the rooms and stalls for the animals in comfortable order for the next long rainy season, during which time, when other work would be at a standstill, we could carry on many minor details for the improvement of the abode.
We leveled the floors first with clay; then spread gravel mixed with melted gypsum over that, producing a smooth, hard surface, which did very well for most of the apartments. But I was ambitious of having one or two carpets, and set about making a kind of felt in the following way:
I spread out a large piece of sailcloth, and covered it equally all over with a strong liquid, made of glue and isinglass, which saturated it thoroughly. On it we then laid wool and hair from the sheep and goats, which had been carefully cleaned and prepared, and rolled and beat it until it adhered tolerably smoothly to the cloth. Finally it became, when perfectly dry, a covering for the floor of our sitting room by no means to be despised.
One morning, just after these labors at the salt cave were completed, happening to awake unusually early, I turned my thoughts, as I lay waiting for sunrise, to considering what length of time we had now passed on this coast, and discovered, to my surprise, that the very next day would be the anniversary of our escape from the wreck. My heart swelled with gratitude to the gracious God, who had then granted us deliverance, and ever since had loaded us with benefits; and I resolved to set tomorrow apart as a day of thanksgiving, in joyful celebration of the occasion.
My mind was full of indefinite plans when I rose, and the day’s work began as usual. I took care that everything should be cleaned, cleared, and set in order both outside and inside our dwelling; none, however, suspecting that there was any particular object in view. Other more private preparations I also made for the next day. At supper I made the coming event known to the assembled family.
“Good people, do you know that tomorrow is a very great and important day? We shall have to keep it in honor of our merciful escape to this land, and call it Thanksgiving Day.”
Everyone was surprised to hear that we had already been twelve months in the country—indeed, my wife believed I might be mistaken, until I showed her how I had calculated regularly ever since the 31st of January, on which day we were wrecked, by marking off in my almanac the Sundays as they arrived for the remaining eleven months of that year.
“Since then,” I added, “I have counted thirty-one days. This is the 1st of February. We landed on the 2nd, therefore tomorrow is the anniversary of the day of our escape.”
Before they went to sleep, I could hear my boys whispering among themselves, about “father’s mysterious allusions” to next day’s festival and rejoicings. I offered no explanations, and went to sleep, little guessing that the rogues had laid a counterplot, far more surprising than my simple plan for their diversion.
Nothing less than roar of artillery startled me from sleep at daybreak next morning. I sprang up and found my wife as much alarmed as I was by the noise, otherwise I should have been inclined to believe it fancy.
“Fritz! Dress quickly and come with me!” cried I, turning to his hammock. Lo, it was empty! Neither he nor Jack was to be seen.
Altogether bewildered, I was hastily dressing when their voices were heard, and they rushed in shouting:
“Hurrah! Didn’t we rouse you with a right good thundering salute?”
But perceiving at a glance that we had been seriously alarmed, Fritz hastened to apologize for the thoughtless way in which they had sought to do honor to the Day of Thanksgiving, without considering that an unexpected cannon shot would startle us unpleasantly from our slumbers.
We readily forgave the authors of our alarm, in consideration of the good intention which had prompted the deed and, satisfied that the day had at least been duly inaugurated, we all went quietly to breakfast.
Afterward we sat together for a long time, enjoying the calm beauty of the morning and talking of all that had taken place on the memorable days of the storm a year ago. For I desired that the awful events of that time should live in the remembrance of my children with a deepening sense of gratitude for our deliverance. Therefore I read aloud passages from my journal, as well as many beautiful verses from the Psalms, expressive of joyful praise and thanksgiving, so that even the youngest among us was impressed and solemnized at the recollections of escape from a terrible death, and also led to bless and praise the name of the Lord our Deliverer.
