“May 14th.

“This morning all our egg-pickers were at work; took in the west end, only the high rock beyond the first bridge; gathered about forty dozen eggs, and got them safely back to camp; in some nests there were three eggs, and these we did not gather, fearing they were stale.  In the p.m. tried to collect dry grass enough to make a thin mattress for my bunk; barely succeeded; am more than ever convinced that desert islands are delusions.

“May 15th.

“It being Sunday, we rest from our labors; by way of varying the monotony of island life, we climb up to the lighthouse, 300 feet above sea level.  The path is zig-zag across the cliff, and is extremely fatiguing.  While ascending, a large stone rolled under my foot, and went thundering down the cliff.  Jim, who was in the rear, heard it coming, and dodged; it missed his head by about six inches.  Had it struck him, he would have been hurled into the sea that boiled below; we were both faint with horror, after realizing the fate he had escaped.  Were cordially welcomed by the lighthouse keeper, his wife, and her companion, a young woman who had come to share this banishment.  The keeper and his wife visit the mainland but twice a year.  Everywhere we saw evidence of the influence of these charming people.  The house was tidy—­the paint snow-white.  The brass-work shone like gold; the place seemed a kind of Paradise to us; even the machinery of the revolving light, the multitude of reflectors, etc., was enchanting.  We dreaded to return to our miserable cabins, but were soon compelled to, and the afternoon was spent in the customary rabbit chase, ending with a stew of no mean proportions.

“May 16th.

“More eggs, and afterwards a fishing excursion, which furnished us material for an excellent chowder.  We are beginning to look for the return of the schooner, and have been longing for news from shore.

“May 17th.

“A great haul of abalones this p.m.  We filled our baskets, slung them on poles over our shoulders Coolie fashion, and slowly made our way back to camp.  The baskets weighed a ton each before we at last emptied them by the cabin door.  Built a huge fire under a cauldron, and left a mess of fish to boil until morning.  The abalones are as large as steaks, and a great deal tougher.  Smoke, cards, and to bed; used up.

“May 18th.

“Same program as yesterday, only the novelty quite worn off, and this kind of life becoming almost unendurable.

“May 19th.

“More eggs, more abalones, more rabbits.  No signs of schooner yet.  Wonder, had Crusoe kept a diary, how many days he would have kept it before closing it with chagrin.

“May 20th.

“Spent the p.m. in getting the abalone shells down to the egg-house at the landing.  We have cleaned them, and are hoping to find this speculation profitable; for the shells, when polished and cut, are much used in the market for inlaying and setting in cheap jewelry.  We loaded a small tram, pushed it to the top of an incline, and let it roll down the other side to the landing, which it reached in safety.  This is the only labor-saving machine at our command.