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CHAPTER XIII.
THE STORM AND ESCAPE

When we reached the summit of the cliff, and looked over once more into the enchanted valley, we could hardly believe that such a change as we beheld could have taken place during our absence. That scene of beauty upon which we had lingered with so much pleasure now seemed to be a moving ocean of clouds, ingulfing every visible point in its billows of mist, raging and foaming as it swelled up over the heights; the wild roar of the tempest vibrating fiercely through the air – the very rocks upon which we stood trembling in the dread coming of its wrath. While we gazed in silence upon the wilderness of surging billows, the whole island became hidden in mist; and that happy valley, so lovely in its solitude but a brief hour before, so calm in its slumbering beauty, so softly steeped in sunshine, was now buried in the fierce conflict of the elements. Nothing was to be seen but an ocean of misty surf below, and a wilderness of dark clouds flying madly overhead. It seemed as if we had been suddenly cut off from the world, and left floating on a huge mass of burned rock, in a chaos of convulsed elements. On every side the impenetrable mists covered the depths, and it needed but a single step to open to us the mysteries of eternity.

The storm set in upon us in fierce and sudden gusts, driving us down for safety upon the lee of the rock. No longer able to stand upright, we cowered beneath the shelter which we found there, and so bided our time. From all we could judge, there was no appearance of a change for the better. As soon as there was a lull, we hurried on along the ridge, in the hope of reaching the valley of the huts before dark, for we had eaten nothing since morning, and were not prepared to spend the night in these wild mountains. After infinite climbing and toil, we came to a part of the path where there were neither trees nor bushes. It was about half a mile in length, and was exposed to the full fury of the gale. About midway we were attacked by a terrific gust of wind and deluge of rain, and it was with great difficulty we could retain our foothold. The rain swashed against us with resistless power, driving us down upon our hands and knees in its fury, while it surged and foamed over us like a white sea in a typhoon. Blinded and dizzy, we rose again and rushed on, staggering in the fierce bursts of the tempest, and gasping for breath in the deluge of spray. How we lived through it I know not; how it was that we were not cast over into the abyss that threatened to devour us, there is but One who knows, for no eye but His was upon us. Breathless, and blinded with the scourging waters, we staggered against a large rock. Here we fell upon our knees, no longer able to contend against the tempest, and clung to the bushes that grew in its clefts, while we silently appealed to Him who holds the winds in the hollow of His hands to take pity upon us, and cast us not away in His wrath.

The worst part of the path being yet before us, where we had previously found it difficult to get over in good weather, we determined upon trying the steep descent on the right, leading directly into the valley of the huts. It was almost a perfect precipice, and was bare and smooth for three hundred yards, where it ran out into a kind of ledge, covered with a stunted growth of trees. If we could reach the grove we would be safe; but between us lay a steep and precipitous field of loose earth, smoothed into a bank of mud by the rains. As we had no alternative, we began the descent as cautiously as possible, thrusting our toes and fingers into the clay, and letting ourselves down by degrees for fifty or a hundred feet at a time, when we stopped a while to look below us. Such was the roar of the storm that I hardly knew whether Abraham was by me or not, when, hearing a loud shout, I looked round and beheld him flying down the precipice with the velocity of lightning. "Oh! he'll be killed!" I exclaimed; "he'll be killed! Oh! what a dreadful death!" At the same moment I felt my hold give way, and I dashed after him in spite of myself, grasping madly at the loose earth, and shouting wildly for somebody to stop me. It was a fearful chase – a chase of life or death! On we sped, upheaving the loose masses of sod, and whizzing through the tempest as we flew; grasping desperately at every rock, tearing up the shrubs that grew in the clefts, and dashing blindly over gaping fissures that lay hidden with the grass. Great masses of burned rock went smoking down into the chaos of mist below, crashing and thundering as they fell. On, and still on, in our wild career we sped, with the vision of death flitting grimly before us! Atoms we were in the strife of elements, whirled powerless into the dark abyss. There was a confused crash of bushes; a stunning sensation – a sudden check – a jarring of the brain – and all was still! I looked, and saw that I was safe. The grove was around me. Consciousness returned as I clung panting to the trees; life was given yet; the vision of death fled in the mists of the tempest.¹

For a moment, dizzy and confused, I clung to a tree, and offered up my inward thanks to that Providence which had spared me through the fearful ordeal. Then, hearing the voice of Abraham near by to where I stood, I looked, and saw him seated upon the ground, wailing aloud as if in extreme bodily pain. Selfish wretch that I was, had I, in my thankfulness for my own safety, forgotten the friend of my heart! Letting go my grasp of the tree, I ran to his side, and asked in choking accents,

"Abraham! oh, Abraham, are you hurt? Tell me quick – tell me, are you hurt?"

"My skull! my skull!" groaned Abraham, in rending tones; "oh! Luff, my skull is broken!"

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, "what are we to do? This is terrible! Wretch that I am, I thought only of myself!"

Abraham groaned again. His face was livid, and a small streak of blood that coursed down his right cheek told how truly he had spoken.

"Abraham, my friend Abraham!" I exclaimed, in a perfect agony of distress, "perhaps it's not so bad. It may not be broken."

"Yes it is," said Abraham; "I heard it crack when I fell. My feet flew up, and I fell on my back. It must have struck a rock."

"Oh, Abraham, what are we to do? I wouldn't have had this to happen for the whole island. Here, I'll tear my shirt off and tie it up."

"No, no, Luff, it can't be mended; it's broken all to smash. I wouldn't have had it happen for a thousand dollars. It can never, never be mended!"

"Let me see," said I, carefully laying back his hair; "something must be done, Abraham."

"No, no – nothing can be done; the trouble's not there, Luff; it's here– here, in my pocket!" At the same time, while I started back in a perfect maze of confusion, Abraham thrust his hand into his coat pocket, and brought forth a whole handful of thin flat bones, broken into small pieces, which he held out with a rueful face, groaning again as he looked at them.

"No, no, it can't be mended, Luff."

"The devil!" said I, angrily, "you may thank your stars it isn't any worse than that!"

"Worse! worse!" cried Abraham, highly excited; "what do you mean? In the name of common sense, isn't that bad enough? How could it be any worse?"

"Pshaw! Abraham; I thought, when I heard your lamentations, and saw that scratch of a bush on your face, that your own natural cranium was fractured."

"Well, what if you did?" cried Abraham, still irritated. "Would you call that worse? A live skull will grow together, but a dead one won't. And this —this, with such a history to it – to lose this, after all my trouble in finding it – oh, Luff, Luff, it's too bad!"

However, having no farther time to spare over his ruined skull, he put back the bones in his pocket, and, with a heavy sigh, joined me as I sprang down through the grove.

The rest of our descent was comparatively easy. When we got down to the head of the valley, a muddy stream broke wildly over the rocks, carrying down with it the branches and leaves of trees, and roaring fearfully as it rushed on toward the ocean. We followed this in its rapid descent, and were soon with our friends at the boat-landing.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE AMERICAN CRUSOE

The third night closed, leaving us still upon the island. Who could tell if the vessel would be in sight by morning? Should the gale continue, it was not improbable that she would be driven far to the leeward, and perhaps compelled to give up the search for us entirely. Ships had not unfrequently been in sight of the island for weeks, as we afterward learned, and yet unable to make an anchorage, in consequence of baffling winds and heavy gales. It might turn out to be no joke, after all, this wild exhibition. To be Crusoes by inclination was one thing, by compulsion another.

We were determined not to spend another night in the cave; that was out of the question. There was not one of us who wanted to enjoy the romance of that place again. No better alternative remained for us than to make a bargain with Pearce, the American, for quarters in his straw cabin. This we were the more content to do upon seeing him emerge from the bushes with a dead kid hanging over his shoulders, which we naturally supposed he intended for supper.

At first he spoke rather gruffly for a fellow-countryman; but this we attributed to his wild manner of life, separated from all society; nor were we at all disposed to quarrel with him on account of his uncouth address, when we came to consider that a man might understand but little of politeness, and yet be a very good sort of fellow, and understand very well how to cook a kid. We had no money, which we honestly told him in the beginning; but we promised him, in lieu thereof, a large supply of ham and bread from the ship. This did not seem to improve the matter at all; indeed, we began to think he was loth to credit us, which, however, was not the case. He said the Californians who had been there had eaten up nearly all his stores, and had paid him little or nothing. They had promised him a good deal, but promises were the principal amount of what he got. If this was all, he wouldn't mind it; they were welcome to what he had; but he didn't like folks to come and take possession of his house as a matter of right, and get drunk in it, and raise Old Scratch with his furniture, and then swear at him next morning for not keepin' a better tavern. He didn't pretend to keep a tavern; it was his own private house, and he wanted it to be private – that's what he came here for. He had society enough at home, and a darn'd sight too much of it. He liked to choose his own company. He was an independent character himself, and meant to be independent in spite of all the Californians on this side of creation. All he wished was that old Nick had a hold of California and all the gold in it – if there was any in it, which he didn't much believe himself. He hoped it would be sunk tolerably deep under the sea before some of 'em got there. It was a tolerable hard case, that a man couldn't live alone without a parcel of fellers, that hadn't any thing to do at home, comin' all the way to Juan Fernandez to play Scratch with his house and furniture, and turn every thing upside down, as if it belonged to 'em, and cuss the hair off'n his head for not makin' a bigger house, and keepin' a bar full of good liquor, and a billiard saloon, and bowlin'-alley for the accommodation of travelers – a tolerable hard case. He'd be squarmed ef he was a goin' to stand it any longer.

We agreed with Crusoe that this was indeed rather a hard case, but promised him that he would find us altogether different sort of persons. We were first-class passengers – none of your rowdy third-class; he understood all that; they were all first-class passengers ashore; he wouldn't believe one of 'em on oath. Again we endeavored to compromise the matter, so far as regarded the ham at least, of which he was entirely incredulous, by telling him that he might come on board with us, and then when we'd be sure not to run away without paying him.

"But what if you should carry me away?" said he, evidently startled by this proposition.

"Nothing – only we'd take you to California. That would be a lucky chance for you."

"No, it wouldn't. I don't want to go there. I'm very well here."

"But there's plenty of gold in California," said we; "no doubt about it at all. You may live here all your life, and be no better off."

"I'm well enough off," retorted Crusoe; "I only want people to let me alone. Ever since this California business they've been troublin' me."

"You surely can't be happy here without a soul near you! Why, it's enough to drive a man mad. It must be dreadfully dull. You can't be happy!"

"Yes I am!" said Crusoe, peevishly; "I'm always happy when I ain't troubled. When I'm troubled I'm mis'rable. Nothin' makes me so mis'rable as bein' troubled."

"It makes a good many people miserable," was our reply. "We must trouble you for a night's lodging, at all events, for we have no place else to stay."

"I don't want you to stay nowhere else!" cried Crusoe; "that wasn't what I meant: you mustn't get drunk – that's what I meant."

"No, we won't get drunk; we haven't any thing to get drunk on, unless you insist upon giving us something."

"Very well, then; you can sleep in my cabin, ef you don't tear it down. Some fellers have tried to tear it down."

We promised him that we would use every exertion to overcome any propensity we might have in regard to tearing his house down; and, although he still shook his head mournfully, as if he had no farther confidence in man, he led the way toward his hut, hinting in a sort of undergrowl that it would be greatly to our advantage not to get drunk, or attempt to destroy his house and furniture, inasmuch as he had a number of goatskins, which he wouldn't mind letting sober people have to sleep on, but he'd be squarmed ef he'd lend 'em to people that cuss'd him for not keepin' feather beds. We declared upon our words, as gentlemen, that we had no idea whatever of sleeping on feather beds in such a remote part of the world as this, and would be most happy to prove to him that we were worthy of sleeping on goatskins; that we would regard goatskins in the light of a favor, whereas if he put us upon feather beds, we should feel disposed to look upon it rather as a reflection upon our character as disciples of the immortal Crusoe.

Abraham and myself were wet to the skin after our adventure in the mountains, and, having been five or six hours in that condition, we were hungry enough to eat any thing. We therefore left the party down on the beach, where they were trying to set fire to an old pitch-barrel as a signal for the ship, and, under the guidance of Pearce, hurried up to the cabin. Upon entering the low doorway, we found that there was some promise of good cheer. There was a basket of fish in one corner, and sundry pieces of dried meat hanging upon the walls. Our friend set to work to skin the kid; and we, finding a sort of stone fireplace in the middle of the floor, with a few live embers in it, sat down, and began putting on some wood out of a neighboring pile, by which means we soon had a comfortable fire. As soon as the steam was pretty well out of our clothes, and the warmth struck through to our skins, we felt an uncommonly pleasant glow all over us; and the blaze was exceedingly cheerful. In fact, we were quite happy, in spite of the gloomy forebodings of Pearce, who kept saying to himself all the time he was skinning the kid, "I expect nothin' else but what they'll burn my house down. Ef they'd only let a feller alone, and not come troublin' him, I'd like it a good deal better than bread or ham either – 'specially when it's aboard a ship that ain't here, and never will be, I reckon. Fun's fun; but I'll be squarmed ef I want to see my house burned down over my head. Tain't nothin' to larf at. When I want somethin' to larf at, I kin raise it myself without troublin' other folks. Ef a man can't live to himself here, I'd like to know where in creation he kin live. I expect they'll be explorin' the bottom of the sea by'm-by in search of gold; I'd go there to be to myself, ef I thought I could be to myself; but I know they'd be arter me in less than a month. Ef I was a bettin' character, I'd be willin' to bet five dollars they'll set fire to the house, and burn it down afore they stop!"

Meantime Brigham and the rest of the party succeeded at length in making a large fire on the beach as a signal for the ship, and they remained down there some time in hopes she would send a boat ashore. But the gale increasing, accompanied by heavy rain, they had to leave the fire, and make a hasty retreat to the hut.

CHAPTER XV.
CASTLE OF THE AMERICAN CRUSOE

Pearce's gloomy views of society began to brighten a good deal when he found that we were not disposed to tear down his house or burn it, or wantonly ruin his furniture. He was not a bad-hearted man by any means, though rather crusty from having lived too long alone, and somewhat prejudiced against the Californians on account of the rough treatment he had received from them. A little flattery regarding his skill in architecture, and a word of praise on the subject of his furniture, seemed to mollify him a good deal; and he smiled grimly once or twice at our folly in coming ashore, when we could have done so much better, as he alleged, by staying aboard the ship, and going ahead about our business.

Regarding the house, which afforded him so much anxiety, there did not appear to us to be any thing quite so original and Crusoe-like in any other part of the world. It was a little straw hut, just big enough to creep into and turn round in; with a steep peaked roof, projecting all round, very rustic and rugged-looking, and, withal, very well adapted to the climate. The straw was woven through upright stakes, and made a tolerably secure wall; outside, growing up around the house in every direction, were running vines and wild flowers; and at a little distance were various smaller sheds and out-houses, in which our worthy host kept his domestic animals, and what wood he required during the bad weather. The furniture of his main abode, which was such a source of honest pride to him, consisted chiefly of a few three-legged stools, made of the rough wood with the bark still on; a kind of bench for a lounge; a rough bedstead in one corner, partly shut off by a straw partition; a broken looking-glass, and an iron kettle and frying-pan, besides sundry strange articles of domestic economy of which we could form no correct idea, inasmuch as they were made upon novel principles of his own, and were entirely beyond our comprehension. Over head, the rafters were covered with goatskins; a sailor's pea-jacket, a sou'wester, and some colored shirts hung at the head of the bed. In one corner there was a rude wooden cupboard, containing a few broken cups and plates, and a Chinese tea-box; in another a sea-chest, which, when pulled out, served for a table. The floor was of mud, and not very dry after the rain; for the roof had sprung a leak, and, moreover, what water was cast off from above eventually found its way in under the walls below. Doubtless, like the man with the fiddle, our host thought it useless to mend it when the weather was fine, and too wet to work at it when the weather was rainy. It was a very queer and original place altogether; and with a good fire, and a little precaution in keeping from under the leaks in the roof, not at all uncomfortable. Our Crusoe friend, overhearing us say that it was a glorious place to live in, a regular castle, where a man might spend his days like a king, smiled again a crusty smile, and growled,

"There's tea in that 'ere box. Ef you want some you kin have it. I got it out'n a ship that came from China. There ain't better tea nowhere."

We thanked him heartily for his kindness, and declared at the same time that we regarded good tea as the very rarest luxury of life. Again his face cracked into something like a smile, and he said,

"Better tea never was drunk in China. Ef you like, I'll put sugar in it."

We declared that sugar was the very thing of all the luxuries in the world that we were most attached to, but we could not drink it with any sort of relish if we thought it would be robbing him of his stores. If he had these things to spare we would cheerfully use them, and pay him three or four times their value in provisions from the ship.

"Darn the ship!" cried Crusoe; "I don't care a cuss about the ship, so long as you don't get drunk and tear my house down!"

Upon this we protested that we would sooner tear the hair out of our heads by the roots than tear down so unique and extraordinary a structure as his house; and as to his furniture, it was worth its weight in gold; every stick of it would bring five hundred dollars in the city of New York.

Whereupon Pearce stirred about in the obscure corners with wonderful alacrity, rooting up all sorts of queer things out of dark places, and muttering to himself meantime,

"I'm as fond of company as any body, ef they're the right sort; and I'll be squarmed ef I ain't an independent character too. I don't owe nobody for a buildin' of my house, or a makin' of my furniture. I did it all myself, long before California was skeer'd up."

He then put down the old kettle on the fire, and, as soon as the water was boiled, emptied a large cupful of tea into it, and set it near the fire to draw. While the tea was drawing, he fried a panful of kid, and broiled some fish on the coals; and when it was all done, he gave us each a tin plate, and told us to eat as much as we wanted, and be darn'd to the ship, so long as we behaved like Christians. Then he furnished us with cups for the tea, and some sea-biscuit, which he dug out of the cupboard; and I must declare, in all sincerity, that we made a most excellent supper.