of time--Tom Bullover, who was on the
look-out, came rushing down the sloping side of the cliff like a madman,
covering yards with each leap and bound he took in his rapid descent,
looking as if he were flying.

"A sail! a sail!" he shouted, as soon as he got near. "There's a ship
in sight, and she's just entering the bay!"

"Vere?--vere?" cried Jan Steenbock, equally excited, running to meet
him. "A sheep? You vas mat, mein pore vellow,--you vas mat!"

"Jee-rusalem--no, he ain't!" exclaimed Hiram, who, standing on the
summit of the little mound by the entrance to the cave, could see
further out to sea than Jan from below. "Tom's all right. Hooray!
It's a shep sure enuff, an' she's now tarnin' the p'int on the starboard
side over thaar!"

With that we all looked now in this direction; and, oh, the blessed
sight! There, as Hiram said, was a vessel under full sail rounding the
opposite cliff and coming into the bay!

"My golly! I shell bust--I'se so glad!" cried poor Sam, dancing, and
shouting, and laughing, and crying, all in one breath. "Bress de Lor'!
Bress de Lor'!"

What I and the rest did to express our joy under the circumstances it
would be impossible to tell; but I'm pretty sure we were quite as
extravagant in our actions and demeanour as the negro,--if not so hearty
in our recognition of the all-wise Providence that had sent this ship to
our rescue!

There is little more to add.

The vessel soon cast anchor in the bay; and on her lowering a boat and
reaching the beach where, as may be supposed, we eagerly awaited its
coming, we found out that she was a whaler, full of oil, and homeward
bound to San Francisco, her captain putting in at Abingdon Island for
fresh water and vegetables, as some of his crew were suffering from
scurvy, and they had run short of all tinned meat on board, having only
salt provisions left.

We were thus enabled to mutually accommodate each other, Hiram, and Sam,
and Tom Bullover, soon fetching a big store of green stuff from our
plantation in the valley, besides securing a batch of tortoises for the
men in the boat to kill and take on board; while Jan Steenbock and I
went with the whaler's captain to point out our water-spring near the
cave, where the doves' grove used to be, the stream from the hills still
finding its way down there to the sea below, although the little lake,
or pool, had become dried up by the accumulation of sand and the trees
all disappeared.

I