see me, for he thought verily I had been burned. And thus we went homewards together, leaving the fire increasing, and still burning most furiously. I slept but little all night; and at break of day I made all our powder and beef to be carried aboard. This morning I went to the hills to look to the fire, where I saw it did still burn most furiously, both to the westward and northward. Leaving a man upon the hills to watch it, I came home immediately and made the men take down our new set of sails immediately and carry them to the seaside, ready to be cast in, if occasion were, and to make ready to take down our houses. About noon the wind changed, and our sentinel came running home, bringing us word that the fire did follow him hard at his heels, like a train of powder. It was no need to bid us take down and carry all away to the seaside. The fire came towards us with a most terrible rattling noise, a full mile in breadth, and by the time we had unroofed our houses, and laid hands on our last things, the fire was come to our town, and seized on it, and burnt it down to the ground. Our dogs howled, and then ran into the sea. To-night shall we lie all aboard the ship, and give God thanks that he has shipped us in her again.

Climbing the watch-tree.    Page 47

June 29.—These three days have we wrought hard in fetching our things aboard, as likewise our water, and have been all about the eastern point, searching for driftwood. Our pinnace, on which hath been spent so much time and labor, we need not, having our ship afloat again, wherefore I have commended her to be sawn in pieces and brought into the ship.

June 30.—To-day have we most earnestly continued our labor, and by eleven this night was our ship in readiness, for we have sought to finish our business with the week and the month, that so we might the better solemnize the Sabbath ashore to-morrow, and so take leave of our wintering island.

July 1.—To-day, the first of the month, being Sunday, we were up betimes. We went ashore, and first we marched up to the high cross we had put up to mark the graves of our dead companions. There we had morning prayer, and walked up and down till dinner-time. After dinner we walked to the highest hills to see which way the fire had wafted. We saw that it had consumed to the westward sixteen miles at least, and the whole breadth of the island; near about our cross and our dead it could not come, because it was a bare sandy hill. After evening prayer we went up to take the last view of our dead, and then we presently took boat and departed, and never put foot more on that island; but in our ship we went to prayer, beseeching God to continue His mercies to us, and rendering Him thanks for having thus restored us. Now go we on our discovery, which achieved, I purpose surely to return to England, unless it should please God to take us first into His heavenly kingdom. And so desiring the happiness of all mankind in our general Saviour Jesus Christ, I end this, my journal, written on the island.”

It was during the merry days of the reign of King Edward III. of England, that a little ship left the port of Bristol, sailing suddenly and secretly, so that none knew to what port she was bound.

She was no trading vessel laden with English goods for Calais, for her crew was not composed of sailors; there were on board only a few men, and these wore the dress of English gentlemen. The strange crew, the secret departure, all told the tale of some danger from which they were seeking to escape, and had we been on board we should have seen by the anxious faces of the crew, by the quick, eager glances with which they watched the shores as they sailed out of the Bristol Channel, that they feared pursuit, either for themselves or for some one whom they had in charge. Though not really sailors, they were doing their best to guide the little vessel, and they had chosen for captain a young Englishman called Lionel Machin, whose directions they obeyed, and in whom they appeared to have full confidence.

It was for Lionel’s sake that the party of friends were now making their escape from England. He had married a girl whom he had long loved, but he had not gained the consent of her father and mother. They were powerful and rich, and he had reason to fear that his young wife would be taken from him through their influence with the king, and therefore he had determined to seek a French port, and to hide himself and wife in some French city which did not own Edward as its king.

But, ignorant as they were of navigation, it was no easy matter for them to direct their course aright, and, high winds springing up, they were beaten about for five days without catching sight of the coast of France. They did not know in what direction they were being carried, and all on board, especially the new-made wife, were full of uneasiness and dismay. Lionel encouraged Arabella with loving and hopeful words, even when his own heart was sinking low, but his friends, who had come only for his sake, and without well considering the dangers and risks which they might encounter, were fast losing spirit and hope. Their merry adventure seemed to be turning into sad earnest, and these light-hearted lads, having nothing to sustain their courage when pleasure was gone, now vented their disappointment in continual murmurs and regrets.

Arabella herself tried to seem indifferent to their danger, and secure in Lionel’s care; she hid her tears, lest they might grieve her husband; but when she thought that no one saw her, she gave herself up to sorrow and despair. She thought of her father and mother whom she had left secretly, lest they should forbid her marriage with Lionel, and she longed with an aching heart for one word of love and forgiveness. For hours she would sit, her eyes turned toward that part of the horizon where she had last seen the coast of England, her thoughts busied about her old home: her father, taking his pleasures with a sad heart; her little sister, weeping for her lost playmate; and, most of all, her mother, upright and dry-eyed, after the stern fashion of the day, but yet, as Arabella well knew, ever thinking of her absent and disobedient child, ever missing the light step, the loving smile, the tender touch of the daughter she had loved so well.

But Lionel still kept up heart and hope, still spoke gaily of the new home they would soon make in sunny France—yes, even when day after day passed by, and the watchers saw no land, and knew that they must be drifting far out of their course, away into the wide unknown ocean. They had been at sea more than a month when one morning early, Lionel, who was pacing the deck, heard behind him a sudden shout of joy.

He did not turn, for there were tears in his eyes which he must hide from his companions, for he had now, for the first time, learned from his wife of her repentance and her grief, and he too was sad at heart and well-nigh hopeless. But the shout was repeated and taken up by other voices.

“Land, land at last!” they cried, and Lionel turned to see, far in the distance, the tall sharp outline either of a rock or of the cliffs which guarded some unknown shore. Wind and wave were steadily sweeping the vessel onward towards this haven of refuge, and there