‘My dear, I am a sailor first of all; put it thus: The _Childe Harold_ will be fallen in with; no need to search for her in that case. Or she may founder. Never imagine that of so great a company every soul will perish; she has boats, but a single survivor would suffice to acquaint them at home with her fate. And how must the yarn run as regards myself? The convict who took command got away in a boat. What became of him? Let them find out.’ He cried out vehemently after he had said this, ‘Oh, my own, that I should be forced to hide! But it has come to it. You are with me and of me, Marian; but what sort of future lies before you?’ I arose and kissed him, and, with my arm about his neck, held my cheek pressed to his. He calmed down quickly, and I got him to talk to me about the island. He told me that when the British troops landed in 1816, the only person on Tristan was an Italian. He was in possession of a large sum of money; but they never succeeded in finding out who he was, how he came by the money, or what had become of his companions. Tom said that the idea of seeking a refuge in that island had occurred to him in the time when the convicts were planning the seizure of the ship. His long chat with Corporal Glass on the occasion of his visit a few years before occurred to him, and he remembered many things that he had seen and heard, such as the little group of cottages situated on the tabled tongue of land, the scanty stock of domestic furniture and utensils, the abundance of English farm-produce, bread, bacon, eggs, butter, milk, poultry, and the like. For groceries and clothes, he said, the families depended on a passing emigrant ship or American whaler. They used no money. Ships were glad to exchange what the islanders wanted for potatoes and such fresh provisions as the island yielded. This is what I can recollect of what Tom told me of that island. The days passed quickly; the work of the brig kept our hands full, and when, of an evening, I looked back on the hours, I’d marvel at the swiftness of their flight. The south-east trades failed us; we then took a strong wind out of the west, which drove us along with the speed of steam. There was small doubt now of our making the island within the fortnight, computing from the day when we fell in with the brig. At long intervals a sail hove into view, but we never sighted anything within speaking distance, nor would Tom have had anything to say to a ship, though she had come close enough to be within hail of the voice. It was Sunday morning. I was aroused by Will, who beat upon my cabin-door. He asked me if I was awake. I answered, ‘You may hear me.’ ‘Then,’ said he, ‘step out and take a look at the island Butler’s to make you queen of, for I’ll be hanged if the heap of cinder isn’t right over the bows.’