We had potatoes, onions, bits of bacon
fat to add flavor, and a general thick residue from former stews at the
bottom of the pot; with black bread broken up into it the result was most
excellent, and it was followed by a stew of plums with sugar and a brew of
strong tea with dried milk. A good pile of wood lay close at hand, and the
absence of wind made my duties easy. My companion sat lazily watching me,
dividing his attentions between cleaning his pipe and giving useless
advice--an admitted privilege of the off-duty man. He had been very quiet
all the afternoon, engaged in re-caulking the canoe, strengthening the tent
ropes, and fishing for driftwood while I slept. No more talk about
undesirable things had passed between us, and I think his only remarks had
to do with the gradual destruction of the island, which he declared was not
fully a third smaller than when we first landed.
The pot had just begun to bubble when I heard his voice calling to me from
the bank, where he had wandered away without my noticing. I ran up.
"Come and listen," he said, "and see what you make of it." He held his hand
cupwise to his ear, as so often before.
"Now do you hear anything?" he asked, watching me curiously.
We stood there, listening attentively together. At first I heard only the
deep note of the water and the hissings rising from its turbulent surface.
The willows, for once, were motionless and silent. Then a sound began to
reach my ears faintly, a peculiar sound--something like the humming of a
distant gong.
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