They pitched a tent on shore, had a boat at their command, and passed their time merrily in rambling about the island, and coasting along the shores, shooting sealions, seals, foxes, geese, ducks, and penguins.
None were keener in pursuit of this kind of game than M'Dougal and David Stuart; the latter was reminded of aquatic sports on the coast of Labrador, and his hunting exploits in the Northwest.
In the meantime the captain addressed himself steadily to the business of his ship, scorning the holiday spirit and useless pursuits of his emancipated messmates, and warning them, from time to time, not to wander away nor be out of hail.

They promised, as usual, that the ship should never experience a moment's detention on their account, but, as usual, forgot their promise.
On the morning of the 11th, the repairs being all finished, and the water casks replenished, the signal was given to embark, and the ship began to weigh anchor.

At this time several of the passengers were dispersed about the island, amusing themselves in various ways.

Some of the young men had found two inscriptions, in English, over a place where two unfortunate mariners had been buried in this desert island.

As the inscriptions were worn out by the time and weather, they were playing the part of "Old Mortality," and piously renewing them.